The Heir to the Pirate King
by TheHouseKey
Summary: Post AWE. Present Day. SPOILERS. When time's up, our favorite Davy Jones Successor will find out that Pirate Kings can't be immortal. How far is Isabelle Mason, the last of the Turner line so far, willing to go to ensure his happiness?
1. Prologue

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

A/N: Welcome to a new story from Funness! W00t! Um…enjoy? I know the beginning is a little slow, but bear with me. It'll get better. I hope…-smiles- Read and review, please?

* * *

Prologue:

The island had been inhabited for as long as anyone could remember. Sparrow Island had staved off the tourists, but ushered in a deficit. It was becoming very expensive to stay on the island with the necessity of technology in the business world. Sparrow Island was a small spit of land on the equator. It was just big enough for the essentials: a major farm, a small airport, and a strip of stores. Today was a cloudy day, threatening a storm. The oldest house on the island had been renovated lightly throughout the years, and legends surrounded the house like the sea to the island; suing to swallow it completely.

Three people were all that was left of the family that built the house. A small girl sat on the porch, staring out to the cliffs. Their house sat on the crossroads. Down was the beach, with white sands and gentle waves while up were the cliffs, dangerous, sheer, and rocky. The girl loved to sit there and listen to the enchanting melody of the sea. She was seven years old and a thin wisp of a girl. Her dark brown hair curled wildly in the salty mist and wind. Her eyes were big and brown.

Her parents had been fighting, again. They always fought.

"The villagers told me, Bethany, a ship hasn't docked here in ten years. Ten years! Do you honestly believe this magic ship is just going to poof itself into existence?" That was her father, Steven Mason. If he didn't see it, it didn't exist.

"Maybe not. Maybe it has nothing to do with magic. All I know is that _The Flying Dutchman_ will be here any moment." Her mother was soft spoken and lovely. She'd tell her stories of shooting stars, of adventure and love.

Lost in reverie, the young Isabelle watched the rolling sea, admiring the blues and greens of the ocean. While she watched the dim sun set, a flash of green lit up the sky like a large firework from another island. But that wasn't right, her child mind reasoned. As the light receded, a speck arrived on the horizon.

"I should be out there, watching for him…"

"Him? Who is this _him?_" Her father exploded. "You're not to leave this house. If anyone's going to meet _The Flying Dutchman_, it'll be me!"

"But the docks---"

"Oh, I'll be at the docks, awaiting this old lecher." He stormed out of the house, slamming the screen door as he went toward the town.

Turning back to the sea, Isabelle heard her mother sob, as the speck loomed closer. Curious, Isabelle got off the porch and clambered down to the beach. A long boat had just landed.

"Ahoy!" came the call. A man was sitting in the long boat, simply watching; waiting.

"Hello!" Isabelle said back as she approached.

"Do you have it?" he asked.

Isabelle looked at him oddly as he got out of the boat. His dark brown hair looked like hers. He had a beard and mustache. His eyes seemed to hold the secrets of the world, and he closed them, savoring the stable feeling of land. His black shirt was open to reveal a ghastly scar across his chest.

"Have what?" she responded. This man scared her.

He reopened his eyes and made a face at the girl. "Is Bethany in there?" he inquired.

Unable to think, for if she could think, she would've lied, Isabelle nodded. No wonder her father was mad. That man was very pretty, and he had a strange accent. She remembered her mother saying she loved accents. He started walking to the house and Isabelle had to run to catch up with him. Before he opened the front door, she regained her wits and called "Wait! Who are you?"

The man turned back and winked as he entered the house. Isabelle followed closely behind.

"You!" Bethany cried. She jumped from her seat and fiercely hugged the man. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and her brown hair a mess.

"I got your last bottle. I apologize for not writing back, it's been pretty busy." He let her go and paid Isabelle no heed.

"Right, that oil spill."

The man shook his head. "It wasn't just a spill. It exploded near a cruise ship. So many people." He paused. "It is good to see you. Where is your husband?" he questioned, looking around for him.

"Looking for you!" Isabelle chimed in. She moved into the light. There was something eerie about this man that frightened her. Were her eyes deceiving her, or was a sword attached to the man's hip?

"Is he, now?"

Bethany looked worried and attempted a smile. "He thinks you're my lover, or something. He got so upset when I told him I had to go meet you."

The man smiled a bit. "He doesn't believe you?" _Every time,_ he mused, _there is always someone who doesn't believe._

She shook her head. It was time to tell him. It couldn't be helped. "He wants to sell the house."

His eyes went wide. "No. He can't. This is the only place I've got to make port. What's the use of walking on land when I've got nowhere to go?"

"I don't know. You'd better go into town before Steven comes back and finds you here." Isabelle wondered at her mother's sincere and genuine concern. Who was this man that she cared so much about?

The man rolled his eyes, and then his eyes landed on Isabelle, who was standing beneath one of the old lamps.

"Is this Isabelle?"

Bethany nodded.

In amazement and wonder, he stepped nearer to her. "She looks just like ---" He knelt down and brushed the strand of hair away from her eyes. "Elizabeth. It's amazing. Just like when I first saw her."

The back door opening got a jump out of all of them.

"I told you he wouldn't be here. You were just being irrational. Like always…"

"Quick," Bethany mouthed.

Swift as the wind, the man ran out of the house, barely making a sound.

"Didn't I tell you?" he repeated as he returned to the front room. Bethany looked to the ground in shame.

"No one in town saw any green light, except for Larry, but he had just got out of the bar, so you can imagine his mind…"

"He's real!" Isabelle blurted out. "He was here! I saw him," she added seeing the fury in his eyes.

"He was here?"

Bethany shot Isabelle a look. It was over. All over.

"I don't believe this. Bethany, how could you?" Steven paused, hurt and angry. Then, suddenly, it all clicked. "Is that where those letters in the bottle go?" His sanity snapped, and he ran out of the house, again.

Bethany sighed in resolution. It was times like these she wondered why she had married her husband. When she wondered what had made her fall in love with him, if she was truly in love with him. "Isabelle, the next time the man comes, you're not to tell your father." That should have been obvious to the girl.

"Who was he, Mother?"

Bethany paused to think. "His name is Will Turner. He was a sword smith in the eighteenth century…" And so she related the story, glazing over the gory details. She went through the family tree, as she had been told when she was a little girl, just having seen the Captain for the first time.

"So, upstairs, there's a chest with an actual _beating_ heart inside it?" Isabelle looked absolutely horrified.

"Come with me." Bethany led Isabelle up the creaky staircases, past the hallways and the bed chambers. She entered one of the many guestrooms, and Bethany pushed an old dresser away from the wall to reveal a hole in the wall. She gestured for Isabelle to follow her through it.

"Where are we, mother?" she asked.

"This is the only way into the attic. Shhhh…In case your father comes home. He might hear us, and he must never know."

Finally, the small space opened up into a room with no windows or chairs. One thing was in the room. A metal chest, covered in dust.

"Is that it?" she asked. Her mother nodded.

"Go ahead and listen. You should be able to hear the heart."

Grossed out, yet transfixed with curiosity, Isabelle laid her ear to the side of the chest. There, faintly. Past the locks and metal. Past the wood of the second chest. The soft thud of a beating heart.

"Is it safe?" Will asked, startling the two.

"Will, don't do that," Bethany requested.

Will laughed. "I'll take that as a yes. Your husband was raving. He seems to think it's all a trick so you can cheat on him."

"That's not right at all. You're a distant grandfather or something."

"I'm removed greatly by this time, but I've still got Elizabeth for ten more years aboard the ship. You can tell your husband I'm in no market for love." He looked at the chest, and the little girl, whose ear was still held up against it, listening to the heart beat, entranced.

He smiled. "So, what's happened since your last letter?" he asked Bethany.


	2. Nine Years and Eleven Months Later

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

A/N: Reviews already? Hot dog! Woot! If you enjoyed, please review. Heck. Review even if you didn't like it!

* * *

Nine Years and Eleven Months Later:

She'd dreamt of him every day since he left. It would be a lie to deny it. The eyes, so like her mother's. The hair, so like her own. He _was_ a very, _very _distant grandfather. Why wouldn't her mind just accept it and move on? But no. Her imagination wreaked havoc upon her vulnerable dreams, weaving fantasies about the immortal Turner and the legends that said he was noble, honest, and kind.

Add that to the fact that strange things had been happening to her since that fateful meeting. More than once she was approached by a large macaw, crying "Wind in the sails! Wind in the sails!" It tried to land on her shoulder, but Isabelle was so completely scared that she ran into the house and closed the door behind her. The parrot was still outside the house. Waiting. A monkey had approached her, too, apparently taking a liking to her. She didn't understand it. She wasn't particularly friendly with animals. But there was that storm that abated when she really didn't want it to storm. And that storm when she was very upset when Tucker had dumped her. The sea also seemed to reflect her moods. Strange, them. Very strange, indeed.

The ocean pulled at her uncomfortably around the clock. Like the tides, the pull could be so strong, Isabelle would have to be shaken to be rid of its spell. It was very unnerving. She didn't like it. Of course, neither did she particularly care for the heart of William Turner, but more often than not, she'd wake up to find herself sleeping in the rickety attic, the chest against her ear. If she could explain that, maybe she'd be a bit happier… Or not.

She tried being a normal teenager. Except for the fact that she had to be home schooled, and there weren't really any other teenagers on the island. Still, she was able to bum some smokes off one of the really cute store clerks with her wits, and she had a myriad of friends on the computer. She couldn't help but feel like something was missing. Something important. She was once again sitting along the railing of her porch, eying the parrot and monkey, daring them to come closer so she could throw the rock in her hand at them, but also staring out into the sea, half expecting him to appear. Half wishing he would appear, but she would never admit that to her romantic heart.

"Did you think I was stupid? That man of yours is coming back in a month. A month. _That's_ why you're encouraging me to go on this vacation. Well, too bad, Bethany. I'm staying right here to meet him. He's got to come in the house, hasn't he?"

Her father was at it, again. Isabelle figured it was due to some personal insecurity of her father's that he was so paranoid about Will Turner. She didn't understand why he didn't get that Will was simply a good friend. More like a diary for her mom than a friend, but helpful with coping with life, nonetheless.

"No, he doesn't," her mother lied softly. "He doesn't ever have to come back. I'm sorry I ever lied to you. Forgive me for my mistakes."

Isabelle gagged in disgust. Her mother had been placating her father ever since Turner had left. She denied everything. _Everything_. How could she? Isabelle didn't understand. Turner was not her lover, he wasn't an old lecher, he wasn't even a threat, but her mother had admitted he was all of those things to make Steven Mason happy. Isabelle couldn't see the point. The house would be sold soon. Three years, they were planning. Nothing made her father happier than knowing in ten years, the man would come back to a grand hotel.

"Isabelle!" her mother called from inside the house. "Could you go buy me a dozen eggs?"

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Why not?" she answered, and jumped off the railing and into the rocks with amazing agility. She loved doing that, especially because it seemed so dangerous. She climbed back up the rocks and past the house into town.

It was a typical Caribbean town, only it was inhabited by mostly Americans or Europeans. That little fact made sense by the legend that said that the island had been empty when Elizabeth Swan had been dropped off with little more than her pregnant body and the Pirate King's treasure. _Pirate King's Treasure…right… _Isabelle thought. She wouldn't believe the Pirate King babble, even if it smacked her in the face.

While musing on the legends of Sparrow Island, Isabelle walked right into an elderly woman.

"Watch where you goin', girlie," the woman said in a strange accent. Her skin was dark and her hair in dreadlocks. Her back was hunched and brittle as she pushed a cart before her.

Isabelle had never seen her in town before. "Ma'am, did you just arrive in town?" she asked politely.

"You might say 'dat. I be lookin' for Isabelle Turner."

At the mention of her name, Isabelle shivered, but having heard the last name, her nerves settled down. "Well, I'm Isabelle Mason, but I can assure you there are no Isabelle Turners on this island."

"No more Turners, aye? Which of yer parents came from de mainland?" The woman looked a little slimy, as though she spent most of her time in the water. The wrinkles in her face belied ancient age.

"My father." _Why did she want to know?_

"Dat explains it. What be yer modder's maiden name, I wonder?" This was asked more to herself than to Isabelle.

She decided to respond, anyway. "I've heard that our family name hasn't been Turner for at least four generations."

The woman nodded. "So, you be her, aye? Yes, you look a great deal like de late Missus Turner. Just as well. Your majesty," the woman pronounced, and swept a large bow.

"Get up, ma'am," Isabelle instructed. "I think you've got your stories mixed."

The woman laughed a bit at that. "Oh, do I? Very well 'den. See if your family go on a trip to Tortuga. Find Jack Sparrow and tell him dat Tia Dalma sent you. He be able to explain it all to ye." She straightened and continued walking.

Confused beyond all reckoning, Isabelle fought off the parrot, again. Honestly, would that parrot ever leave her alone? And if it wasn't the parrot, it was the monkey! And who was Jack Sparrow? Was he the one the island was named after? Isabelle couldn't rightly remember. She bought her mother's eggs and returned to the house, where her parents were compromising about something.

"Fine. We'll leave tomorrow, but we have to be back by next week. Remember that," her father pushed.

"Thank you, darling. I appreciate it!"

_What was going on?_

Isabelle entered her house to find travel guides spread out and marked up. A small island was circled with the words Tortuga on it. Swallowing in incredulity, Isabelle called to her mother. "What is the meaning of this?"

Bethany joined her daughter in the front room. "We're going on a cruise. Your father consented just today. Go, pack. We'll be leaving tomorrow afternoon." She seemed as giddy as a school girl.

"But what about Will Turner?" Isabelle eyed her mother. Was she planning on having the family gone during his return? "What about the chest?" she added in a hushed whisper.

"We've got a good three weeks before he comes back, honey. Why is it so important to you?"

True to herself, Isabelle shrugged. She didn't know why he had become so important. She had contemplated writing to him like her mother did, but couldn't get herself to say anything sensible or right sounding. Instead, she pretended the letters were for him, and kept them in the dresser that led to the chest. Maybe one day, he'd get them.

The dreams, as always, drenched her in romantic adventures and high faring seas. Dreams of the sea and its hold echoed within her brain. The ocean called to her, more forcefully than anything she'd ever felt. Thank God they were going on a cruise tomorrow. Who knows what lunacy she'd commit if Isabelle didn't answer the sea's beckon.

A/N: Time to thank ye that've reviewed thus far:

**U dont no me**: I know the summary's a bit misleading. I was getting ahead of myself there… You see, the whole legend bit is kind of convoluted. Once we find Jack, though, you'll understand a bit better. Thanks for going against your gut instinct and reading it!

**OllieOfFreeOxen**: Were you sarcastic about the real life thing? I wouldn't know. I don't live real life. -shrug- Thank you for reviewing. Here's an update for you. :)

**Acacia59601**: It's going to be crazy, that's for sure. Thank you very much for reviewing. Here's an update for you!


	3. The Cruise and Tortuga

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

A/N: This story is already the second most viewed of any story I've ever created on this site. Ho-ly cow!

* * *

The Cruise and Tortuga:

_Well_, thought Isabelle, _at least the scenery's nice._ The parrot had followed her as her family drove to the airport, and then she didn't know where it went, because it certainly didn't get on the plane. But, when they got to the main island where their cruise started, the bird was there, waiting for her. She was just glad the monkey hadn't found a way to follow her. The monkey smelled.

The cruise ship was gleaming white and huge. A man in a crisp captain's uniform was leaning against the railing, awaiting his passengers. His hair was brown and his eyes, scrutinizing. When Isabelle and her parents approached the ship, he tipped his hat at them, welcoming them aboard. Apparently he was Captain Avery.

"Good day. Hope you enjoy the trip. The weather should be fine," he informed them as they walked on deck. Isabelle felt there was something acutely off about him. She had no clue what it was, but it was just like her inclination to the sea. Unexplainable.

They found their suite with little difficulty, and Isabelle didn't like the brown color scheme. They were in a boat, _why the heck would anything be brown? _she wondered.

She examined herself in the full length mirror beside her bed. She stood in front of it in her summer clothes. She wore a white tank top and black jersey shorts. Her body was thin and wiry, the result of living on an uneven terrain all her life. Evaluating the way her clothes fit her, her big, brown eyes looked up and down the length of the mirror. Her dark brown hair fell in loose curls around her shoulders; the hair tie was lost sometime during the flight. When she finally looked at her face, she saw the high cheek bones of royalty, a full mouth, and striking eyebrows. Okay, so she shaped her eyebrows herself, but she had to admit they were striking against the pale gold of her skin.

For all that they were on a ship, Isabelle felt almost cheated that it didn't move like one. It was almost perfectly still. Almost. Within the first half hour of casting off, her father got sick.

Rolling her eyes, Isabelle exited their room to look out. Her eyes met the wondrous sight that was the open sea. Speckles on the horizon dotted across her panoramic view. The only difference between sea and sky seemed to be a slight white halo between them. A kind of purgatory where everything is not quite where it seems. Smiling to herself, Isabelle leaned against the railing, and simply took it in. How she loved the sea. She glanced down, and caught a glimpse of a few creatures swimming alongside the ship.

Curious, she watched as they surfaced. One jumped, and Isabelle confirmed they were dolphins. She found herself laughing at their antics, how happy they were!

"SQUAWK! Wind in the sails!"

_That damned parrot!_ Isabelle thought as it landed on her shoulder. "Do you mind?" she bit as she brushed it off her.

"No," it replied, and returned to her arm.

"Leave me alone!"

"SQUAWK! Shiver me timbers!"

Isabelle rolled her eyes, again, and focused on the sea. She remembered the map she had seen, and wondered. The main island was now in front of them. According to the map, it should have been behind them. Where was the captain going? Not like her parents cared. They were both in the cabin, enjoying the rest and relaxation. _Pfft…_she thought.

For quite a long time Isabelle felt they were going in the wrong direction. She just felt it. So when the ship took a sudden lurch, she wasn't surprised to hear they'd run aground a reef. She turned towards the people on the deck, and all were looking about in confusion. The captain came out of his cabin long enough to walk amidst the people. He didn't hurry, didn't run. It angered her that he took his sweet time.

Frustrated, she looked back over the ocean. And almost coughed in surprise. A ship just came out from under the water. She couldn't believe it. Did no one else see the ship? She turned around frantically, but no one was looking in that direction; they were all looking at what happened to the cruise ship. The ship that came out of the water was monstrous. It almost looked like it had a crocodile's mouth. It was too far away to see clearly, though. Isabelle turned back to the captain, wondering what the ship might bode.

Avery peered over the edge and shrugged as if it was no big deal. He turned to go back to his cabin, but an intimidating man in black had appeared magically before him.

Isabelle recognized him immediately. Will Turner. Her heart imitated the boat and hit against her ribs. She edged closer and stared at the other passengers. They weren't moving. Only Avery, Will, and Isabelle were not frozen.

"You have a debt to pay." Will said this softly, threateningly.

Isabelle knew something was off about him. Avery must have done something untoward. She moved silently over to get a better view of what was happening. Will hadn't noticed her movement.

The captain squirmed under Will's gaze. He tried to get out from between the railing and Will. He mumbled in disagreement.

"Then do you fear _death_?" Will asked with the deadliest of tones.

Avery was still struggling, whimpering, "No…n-no!"

"Be mighty sure of that, Mr. Avery. Either way you're leaving this ship." He paused.

Isabelle was breathless. He wouldn't kill Avery would he?

"I'll serve! I'll serve!" he squealed.

Satisfied, Will turned to leave, and spotted Isabelle as she crept closer. "Elizabeth?" Will muttered, staring at her.

Her throat went dry. What was that look? Wasn't his wife aboard _The Dutchman_?

In this stretch of time, Avery pulled out a gun, and made to shoot.

"Will!" Isabelle warned.

The shot fired, and Will took out his sword. He pierced Avery through his heart just as the bullet fell to the ground, wasted on Davy Jones' successor.

"Now do you fear it?" he repeated, in a meaner tone. As a response, Avery spit in Will's face. Will rammed his sword deeper into him, killing him, and then dropped him overboard. He gave Isabelle one last look before she blinked, and he was gone.

Isabelle was in shock. A man had just been _killed_. And she saw it. The brutality stuck in her throat and left a bad taste in her mouth. Will Turner was no pushover. Avery was _dead_. She tried to sort it out in her head; desensitize herself to it. Maybe if she hadn't seen Avery face when Will pushed the sword deeper, she would have been okay. Everyone else started moving in a whirl of chaos.

"Where's the captain?"

"Where'd he go?"

"Did he leave?"

"Dead men tell no tales," cried the parrot as he landed on Isabelle's shoulder.

"Well, aren't you just the optimistic one?" she remarked. She noticed the first mate out of the corner of her eye. He seemed unsure, but he sighed, and entered the captain's office, where their direction had been set right. Nodding to herself, Isabelle consented to gaze out into the sea. She made to forget it ever happened.

By the schedule, they should have been in Tortuga by noon. As it was, they docked at the town at about three in the afternoon.

Isabelle followed her parents most of the way. She mostly stared at the little shops. When it came time for dinner, her parents picked a small hole-in-the-wall called _Pyrate's Rum_. Her mother pointed it out, and both her parents entered.

Isabelle, however, stood outside, looking at the old building. It only two stories tall, and looked about older than anything else in the town. There was a bench in front of the right picture window, and sleeping on this bench was a man.

This man had a big hat that covered his face, and Isabelle could hear him snore from across the street. He wore a baggy white shirt that rustled when he shifted positions, black pants, and odd boots that had seen better days.

A couple teenage girls with blonde, braided hair walked past, looking through a magazine and giggling. "Captain Jack Sparrow!" One of them pointed to the magazine and gave a high pitched squeal. They both swooned.

The effect this had on the man was very entertaining from Isabelle's point of view, and she surreptitiously looked around like a tourist, and not directly at the man. The man jumped at the name and flipped his hat off to look in the direction of the girls. His long and strange beard flipped wildly when he jumped. There were several odd beads in this braided beard. When he saw who the girls were, he sat back down, made a face, and put his hat back over his face.

"Damn franchise."

Isabelle knew that had come from the man. Excited, now, she approached him. He smelled of rum and sleep. "Captain Jack Sparrow?" she inquired softly.

"Not fallin' for that, again," the man muttered.

"Jack Sparrow." She said a little bit louder.

He said something unintelligible.

Finally, she poked him. "Are you Jack Sparrow?" she asked loudly.

Feigning awakening, the man waved his arms about, as though surprised. "'Scuse me?"

"Are you Jack Sparrow?"

His top lip quivered. He regained his posture and responded to her. "No. No, I'm not. John Byrd, pleasure to meet you, Miss…?" He gave her a very suspicious look.

"Do you know Jack Sparrow?"

It finally became too much for the man. "_Captain_. It's Captain Jack Sparrow!"

"So you are him." Isabelle nodded in understanding.

His eyes went wide with fright. That was a look he remembered, but hadn't seen in over two centuries. "No'm not," he remarked flippantly and stubbornly.

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Fine then, can you tell me where to find _Captain _Jack Sparrow?" She was enjoying this. The man was very amusing, and his responses to her were strange. Maybe he, too, noticed the resemblance between her and Elizabeth Turner.

"Err…he…uh… What did you say your name was, again?"

"I didn't, but Tia Dalma sent me." She told him. He should know who she was by now.

And, indeed, he did. His countenance didn't change much from the fright, but he gave her another one of his incredulous looks. "And what is your name?" he asked.

"Isabelle Mason."

"Right. You say that Tia Dalma sent you. Was she an old woman?"

Isabelle nodded.

"How old?"

"Very. Feeble, almost."

"Ah," he remarked. "That explains it. Well, Miss Mason, did Tia Dalma happen to explain to you the rather weird and convoluted story that is Davy Jones?"

"She didn't, but I know it already. They pass the stories of the Turners down through each generation," Isabelle said.

The man nodded. "And now you need me…"

"To explain to me why Tia Dalma addressed me as, 'Your Majesty.'"

This brought about a whole new look on the captain's face. It was the acknowledgement of opportunity. "Interesting. Very interesting." He seemed to size up Isabelle. She noticed his moves were very loose, drunken almost. "Do you know who you are…" He thought for a moment. "Who you will be, in the very near future, Miss Mason?"

Isabelle shook her head.

The man smiled. She thought it was a very creepy smile. "You, love, will be the next Pirate King."

A/N: Time to thank ye that've reviewed thus far:

**Acacia59601**: Next update for ye! Thanks for the review!

**Sunshine**: All will be revealed. I make you ask questions like that, but never without answers. Trust me.

**OllieOfFreeOxen**: Yeah, stories can be that way, both on the writing and reading end…(addicting, I mean.) Cool! You weren't being sarcastic! I totally can't tell online…

**U dont no mi**: Thank you for the compliment. Hope you like this chapter.

**DarkAngelmi818**: I realize she's young. But shhhh… You'll see why later! Trust me on this. Thanks for the review!

**Teranika Meneldil**: All will be revealed, dear reader. All will be revealed, in all good time, of course! Thanks for the review!


	4. An Explanation

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

A/N: This is now viewed more times than my oldest story on fanfiction. Tell me that's not weird? Reviews are nice!

* * *

An Explanation:

"You, love, will be the next Pirate King."

Isabelle blinked in response. What could she say to him? No? It was simply too ridiculous to fathom. Her? The next Pirate King? It had to be wrong somehow.

"Come, come. You must have something to say to that. You'll soon rule the seven seas!" Jack commented, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"That doesn't make any sense. Why me? What's going on with the current Pirate King that he'll be put out of power?" The legends were reeling in her head, getting mixed and confused.

"I'm not so sure that I'm to be the one to tell you all this. Let's get out of the open, eh? I don't need teenage girls crowding around me, again," Jack explained as he led her inside the restaurant. He led her to a secluded table in the corner. There was a sign on the table that read _Reserved_.

"But it's—"

"Reserved for me. Sit down," he requested. "Now, this whole Pirate King business… I really don't like going on about it, but if you really don't know." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Elizabeth Turner was the Pirate King, savvy?"

Isabelle nodded. She remembered that part, now. "Why wasn't there a new Pirate King when she died?" she asked. _And why wait until now to make my generation the heir?_

"Well, technically, Mrs. Turner isn't quite dead," he said. "She commandeered a long boat when she was about…" His eyes turned upwards as he thought. "Oh, about seventy. Eighty. Been too long so I don't rightly remember the exact age. But I attended the funeral." He then made the frightened face again, as if he had said too much.

"You attended a funeral in the eighteenth century?" Isabelle repeated, looking at Jack in a whole new light.

He sighed. Now he'd done it. "Yes. I did. In fact, I believe it was exactly two centuries ago."

"Why haven't you died?"

He chuckled. "Love, when my time came, Davy Jones the Second forgot one very important thing." He paused to soak in Isabelle's rapt attention. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow." As though expecting her to be satisfied with this explanation, he changed the subject. "Now, does your family still live on Sparrow Island?"

Isabelle nodded. "I've been told that some family members left, some returned, and they always marry people who've come from a mainland," she said, recalling her mother's versions of the stories.

"What do you know of the Pirate King's Treasure?" he wondered.

"There is such a thing?" she asked back. At this point, nothing could surprise her. Even to find out this treasure was guarded by undead pirates wouldn't phase her. Really.

"Oh yes. Most definitely. It's underwater and under land in a cave somewhere. When you become the next Pirate King, you'll be granted access to it all. Well, access beyond the supernatural guards. You'll still have to go deep under water, through all the tunnels, under ground, and up again to the _actual_ treasure, but you don't have to worry about … oh… let's say something rather like the Leviathan, and curses, and all manners of other unpleasant things."

"You still haven't explained _why_ I'll be the Pirate King. I thought the code dictated that pirates voted for their king, so it wouldn't be a dynasty." She certainly remembered that about the tale. How one of the Pirate Lords had broken tradition, and voted for someone other than himself. That Pirate Lord had voted for Elizabeth Swan, thus making her the Pirate King.

Jack nodded. "The Pirate Lords voted for the king. If there were Pirate Lords today, they could vote for their king. However, there hasn't been a council since 1727, and new Pirate Lords might have been established, but those are … um…" He thought for a moment. "Those can be hereditary, democratic or just plain friendly, and by now they will have died out as well. Therefore, everything that happens in this time will be on this generation."

Isabelle still wasn't understanding. "Why this generation though? Why not my mother's? Or my children's?"

"Recall my statement about Elizabeth Turner being technically still alive?" He paused for her affirmation. When he got it, he went on. "Well, there's this rule in the Pirate Code that the Pirate King can not be immortal. Under any circumstances. The _only_ constant state the Pirate King is to remain is dead. And once dead, the pirate in question is no longer the Pirate King. When Elizabeth Turner died, she pledged to serve eternally aboard _The Flying Dutchman_."

"Thus technically not passing on," Isabelle caught.

"Precisely." He seemed thrilled that she comprehended. He caught a waiter and ordered two Rum and Cokes. "Since we're being so technical, a Pirate King has to relinquish his…her title after two hundred and seventy years, if there hasn't been another Pirate Council."

"Relinquishing meaning dying?" Isabelle inquired.

Jack nodded. "This year, 1997, Elizabeth Turner's time as Pirate King will be up, and she will be forced to pass on into the next phase of life, leaving _The Flying Dutchman_, her title as King, and dear William behind."

The last part had a lump catch in her throat. He'd be without his wife after two hundred and seventy _years_. She didn't even want to begin to imagine his pain. "Why hadn't she done anything about it to stay immortal? Have another Pirate Council to elect another king, or no king?" _Why didn't she do something?_ she thought. She would have done anything to stay with Wi— the love of her life.

"It was not until death that Calypso informed them of their inevitable separation. The terms of Will Turner's…position as Davy Jones had said he would be let go if Elizabeth remained faithful. She did, but Calypso had seen how wonderfully Will had fulfilled the position, and so she kept him doing Jones's work." It bothered him to tell her this, but their drinks had arrived, and he hid behind his drink as he gulped it down.

"What?! That's ridiculous! Who is this woman that can't keep her word?" Isabelle exploded.

Jack almost had to spit his drink back into his cup she was being so loud. "Keep it down, love, we don't want people staring. We're talking about nigh impossible things here. Things that in this time don't even exist. But they do. Oh do they, but we can't go drawing attention to it, savvy?" he hushed.

"All right. But why would it matter? What did the souls do before Davy Jones? Surely they found their way to their resting place without him?" she asked, still indignant.

"Aye, they did, but Davy Jones wasn't the first to ferry them to the land of the dead. And Will Turner won't be the last. With the way morality's gone to the dogs, the number of souls Will has to treat unmercifully is soaring, especially because there are still pirates today." He took another sip. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I have done far too much talking. I believe your parents are over there, and sooner or later, you will be united with the other eight Pirate Lords, where the Council will finally reconvene. Now go on. I'd like to finish me drink all on me onesy, savvy?" He gestured for her to leave, but Isabelle didn't move.

"Would there be any way to free Will from his…position?" she asked in all earnest intensity.

The look in her eyes greatly disturbed Jack. It would make his job a lot more complicated if he saw in her eyes what he thought he saw. His top lip quivered, again. "Your parents will be wondering where you've been. Say you've been taking photographs." His voice was more serious than it had been the entire conversation before. It was as though a great weight rested on his words. He turned away to signal her departure.

Disappointed, Isabelle sighed in frustration and took off from the table.

"Oh, Lizzy, what have you gotten yourself into, now?" he muttered to himself. He then chugged the rest of his Rum and Coke. Upon seeing Isabelle hadn't even touched hers, he downed hers as well. He was staring at the empty glasses when the parrot from Sparrow Island landed on the table.

"Land ho!" the parrot squawked.

"So the monkey told you were to find the gold, aye?" Jack asked the bird.

The parrot bobbed its head up and down. "All hands on deck! All hands on deck!"

* * *

A/N: W00t! I less than 3 readers! 

**MinervaMGR**: What's the other story set in present time? I tried looking for one before I posted mine, but there wasn't one...-thinks- Good to know this story's got promise! I'm so glad you like it. Your English was fine!

**PearlSparrow13**: I saw your name and thought, "I can _so_ see Jack naming a daughter Pearl..." lol! Glad you think Jack's dialogue is good. Let's see if you think so after this chapter...I personally think he talks WAY too much (he agrees), but it had to be done...-shrug- Thanks for the review!

**DarkAngelmi818**: Eh...I feel as long as chapters are over 1,000 words, they're pretty good. If I ever give you a chapter less than that, then okay, shame on me. I actually really like chapters at about... 1,500 words or so. It's enough time for something to happen, but not enough to ramble. Thanks for reading and reviewing! Glad you like it.

**Crazy Hyper Lady**: Thanks! For the compliment and reviewing! Here's another chapter for you!

**Acacia59601**: -thumbs up- I'll sure try to keep up the good work. Thanks for reviewing!


	5. Dreaming?

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

A/N: Sorry this is a little bit shorter than previous chapters…1,083 words… about. Enjoy!

* * *

Dreaming?:

_Stupid, drunken, ancient, ridiculous pirate… _Isabelle mused as she found her parents' table.

"Where did _you_ go?" her mother asked brightly. She and Steven were positively glowing.

"I found…" She paused and sighed. She looked behind her, and found that Jack was gone. "I found a place to take some pictures," she responded halfheartedly.

"That's wonderful! Are you having fun?" Steven asked. He took a sip of the fruity cocktail in front of him.

"It's nice to see different places," Isabelle admitted, smiling for them. She figured their happiness was due to Bethany's submissiveness. Steven was most happy when Bethany listened to him. When she did what he told her to do. When she wasn't being herself.

Refusing to bother with her parents' idiosyncrasies, Isabelle thought about the Pirate King. She couldn't possibly be the heir to the Pirate King. She remembered the code _specifically_ said that the king was to be voted upon. _Oh well_…

Soon, all of the passengers of the _U.S.S. Marincora _had to be back aboard the ship. Isabelle turned to get to bed, but her parents stopped her.

"We're going to play poker. Care to join us?" her mother asked.

Isabelle made a face. She didn't really like to play card games. Mostly because she could never find a deck of cards. Still, she knew how to play poker. Shrugging, she followed them to the cabin where the game was being played. There were numerous tables of card games.

"Here, Isabelle," her father said, holding out some singles. "Here's fifteen to play with. Try not to lose it all," he suggested as they picked a table.

Rolling her eyes at her father, Isabelle saw a table of harmless looking tourists. "May I join you?" she requested, seeing the dealer just start to deal.

The dealer nodded and Isabelle sat down. "How much is the ante?" she asked.

"One dollar," an elderly woman replied. Her hair was short, silver, and curled. She wore sunglasses on the top of her head and had a floral tee shirt.

Isabelle nodded and put in a dollar. She received her five cards and took a look. After deliberating, she threw out three, figuring she was only losing a dollar. The cards she got back were not shabby. If she played it out right, she could win.

Fifteen games later, Isabelle pulled in her cash and bid everyone good night. She'd raked in a pretty pile of money, having luck on her side this night. She also mused on how many times the players would turn away from their stash, almost begging her to steal it. She was sorely tempted, but stopped herself. Just because she was the descendant of a pirate didn't mean she had to act like one.

Isabelle, stumbling in her tiredness, headed straight for her twin bed beside the mirror. Her parents, however, giddy as teenagers, stayed out, and headed to the midnight buffet. She wondered if they were going to get margaritas. Laughing a bit to herself, she scooted underneath her blankets, still in her regular clothes. She was asleep in seconds.

In dreaming, any sort of universal rules didn't have to be followed. Such was Isabelle's dream this night. She was on a dingy in the middle of the ocean, not quite sure where to go. She was dressed in pirate garb: baggy shirt, black britches, and a three-cornered hat. There was also a thin sword at her side. To her ultimate dismay, lightening flashed in the sky. She was unsure how to steer the little boat, having found no paddles at all. Not that they would help. Her achy joints hadn't been pain free since 1745, and she wouldn't be able to row the boat if there were paddles. The waves rose higher, and Isabelle didn't know what to do. Should she abandon ship? The sea almost forced her to do so when a rolling wave capsized her little boat.

Clinging to the wood, Isabelle flipped the boat over. She was starting to get her breath back to normal when her boat crashed into a large rock. Splintering into a million pieces, the boat disintegrated into the water. Isabelle held onto the rock and looked ashore. A small island lay in front of her, but she didn't have the strength to let go of the rock and swim to shore. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head when strong arms grabbed her and pulled her to the ship waiting further out at sea.

When she opened her eyes, she was standing before a group of men on a large ship. Her heart soared as she locked eyes with the captain.

"Elizabeth," he'd said lovingly. He crossed to her and wrapped his arms around her.

"Will," she breathed. "It's been so long."

"Do you fear death, Elizabeth Turner?" He looked straight into her eyes, their faces centimeters apart.

"I pledge to serve _The Flying Dutchman_ and her captain," she smiled, and the lines and creases in her face opened. "For all of eternity." Slowly, oh so slowly, the creases melted back into the perfect face she'd had as a young adult. Her brittle bones gained back their mass and solidity from before she had children. Her skin tightened and joints straightened. Shining with health, her silver hair turned back to its original light brown. She was his Lizzie, again.

Laughing in delight, she brought her lips to Will's in a dizzying kiss, thrilling in his touch. They'd be together for ever, now. Oh so they thought.

"Missus Turner," said an accented voice from beside them.

With great reluctance, they broke apart, and faced Calypso in the form of Tia Dalma.

"What do you want?" Will asked. "I've done what you've instructed. Elizabeth has been faithful."

Calypso nodded. "So, indeed, you have, William Turner. 'Dere be a problem wit Elizabeth's eternity, 'dough."

"A problem?" she repeated.

"Aye. A great problem. It has to do with da Pirate Code. A Pirate King can not be immortal. She have to die at some point," Calypso explained. "She can not remain wit you for all time."

A flash of lightening accented the situation, and Isabelle was rudely awakened by the U.S.S. Marincora lurching forward. Her head hit the front board of her bed, and she was then thrown on to the floor as thunder roared around her.

* * *

A/N: I want to thank all of you that have reviewed! I found a nifty little thing on fanfic that enables me to review you guys in a message. So I will be doing that instead of taking up chapter space. Maybe. I might like to look back on the responses... and there's the problem of not being able to reply to anon. reviews... Hmmm... I'll just have to think about it. Well, reviews are amazing. See you next chapter! 


	6. The Rest of the Vacation

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

A/N: In order to make up for the short chapter, this one is more than two thousand words! Yay!

* * *

The Rest of the Vacation:

An annoying alarm was going off by the time Isabelle regained her balance. It took about a second for her to realize what was going on. They were caught in a powerful storm.

Immediately worried, Isabelle clambered out of the room and out into the open. The ship gave another sickening lurch that made her cling to the railing. The sky was an unwelcoming green, and the clouds thundered and crashed above them. The sea was an angry purple, and rain pelted down so fast it hurt.

Isabelle used the railing to walk to the other side of the ship, where she remembered her parents would be. All around were people grasping ropes, masts, or anything they could get their hands on. It was slow going for Isabelle, but she eventually made it to the other side. She saw her mother and father holding on to the rail.

"What are you doing? Go back in the room!" her father commanded.

"Not without you guys!" she responded, coming closer.

"You listen to me, young lady!" They had to scream to be heard over the din. "You get back to the room and lock the door! Waiting this storm out is the only option!"

If she wasn't as worried about them as they were about her, she would have rolled her eyes. Her father knew nothing about sailing. But neither did she.

Finally, her mother spoke up. "We'll all make our way to the room! Here, take hands!"

In that moment, Steven Mason let go of the railing, being between Isabelle and her mother. The boat gave another shake, and Steven Mason was thrown over board.

Hardly daring to believe it, Isabelle spied a ship coming out from the water. Tears filled her eyes at the implication. She didn't have time to think much about it, as lightening struck the tallest mast of the ship. It caught fire, and began to fall apart. She grabbed Bethany's hand and moved quickly to an open room. She closed it behind her mother and placed a chair under the handle to keep it closed.

The two huddled together in the center of the room, using each other as supports. Slowly it began to dawn on them exactly what was going on, and both Isabelle and her mother started to cry. The storm had likely claimed Steven; they would never see him, again. For all his faults, for all his obnoxious, overbearing manner, he had cared for them. He only wanted the best for them. Sure, he had some power issues, some control issues. In each other's arms they fell asleep as the storm settled down.

Isabelle woke up beside her mother, and had to shield the sun out of her eyes from the window. Taking in a deep breath, she removed the chair from the door and opened it. The sun was almost too bright. On board, people were walking slowly, every step an exercise in acceptance. She examined the many faces of loss, fatigue, and weariness. Pained by their expressions, she simply stood, unsure of how to comfort any of them. Unsure if she should comfort any of them. How many had been lost? Her gaze swept about the ship, searching for answers. Any sort of answers.

Her eyes fell upon a group of people who circling and chattering. Curious, she moved towards them, wondering what was causing the ruckus.

"Excuse me. I'm the first— I'm the captain of this ship. May I get through?" The former first mate pushed past Isabelle and the people in front of her. He got to the center and she heard him say, "Calm down. It's going to be all right."

Still thinking, Isabelle elbowed her way into the crowd. She jumped to see over people's heads and lunged to see in between their arms. In the center of the crowd was someone wrapped in a gray blanket. They were shivering, crouched over whatever chair they had been given. Isabelle moved around the crowd and saw the familiar face.

"Dad!" She pushed now harder than before and got to the center of the people. Her father was soaking wet, his lips blue, though the Caribbean sun burnt bright in the sky. His hair was plastered to his head, and his eyes were bloodshot and tearing.

He could say no more than mutterings. Shivering uncontrollably, he made motions to let his daughter know he recognized her. Overcome, Isabelle wrapped her arms around him, relieved that he was alive.

"Did someone retrieve him?" she asked the captain.

He shook his head. "Everyone said he just sort of…appeared on board."

"N-no. S-sell h-how—" he attempted to say.

"Shh," Isabelle stopped. "You don't have to speak yet. Let's get you changed and warmed up." It seemed impossible that he was cold, yet his skin was cool and clammy to the touch.

She led him gently to their room, and she called to her mother on their way. Bethany quickly joined them, and relieved Isabelle of caring for her father.

"Are you sure? I can help," she offered, but her mother shooed her away.

So away she went. Isabelle sighed and leaned against the railing of the _U.S.S. Marincora_. In the silence, she almost wished for the parrot with his strangely random pirate sayings. She figured his line for this occurrence would be something like "Shiver me timbers!" or, in reference to everyone else's loss, "Fifteen men on a dead man's chest!" How eerie.

This called to mind a pirate shanty, and soon, Isabelle was singing the lyrics to "Yo Ho, Yo Ho, A Pirate's Life for Me!" in her head. However, when she went through it, she was struck by a revelation.

She couldn't be the heir to anything; Pirate Lord _nor_ Pirate King for the very good reason that she wasn't a pirate. Sure, pirate was in her blood, but she _wasn't a pirate_. In order for the Pirate Code to apply, she had to be a pirate.

Understanding now more than she had in her entire life, Isabelle made to start locking away the legends into a part of her head that didn't matter. None of it mattered, the treasure, the Pirate Lords, the legends…Will Turner… She sighed. _Alright, Will Turner matters_, she admitted to herself. _For the simple reason that he trusts my family and me to guard his heart— chest. That's all he is. Someone to protect._

Her father had not been the same for the entire trip. On land he was more sensible. More coherent. But once he was aboard the ship, he became paranoid and clung to anything that was nailed to the ship itself. They had three days left, and then they would be heading home.

Despite her father's oddities, Isabelle quite enjoyed herself on the small islands. A few of them reminded her of home. A small idea flitted about in her head. If she could arrange for Sparrow Island to be a stop for a cruise company, that might just pull her island out of its deficit, and they could keep their home. As it were, she found out there'd be no need to worry about losing the house.

On the last full day of their trip, her father called Bethany and Isabelle into their room for a family chat. He was seated on their bed and looked very grave. He gulped as he motioned for them to sit down. Isabelle wondered if he was trying to call up his business façade to calm himself down.

"Now, you two saw me get thrown off the ship, right?" he asked them, almost fearful of anyone else listening.

The two nodded.

"Right. So. So, I was… Well… I. We're not selling the house," he explained in a rush.

Filled with delighted joy, both Bethany and Isabelle rushed Steven in bone crushing hugs.

"Oh thank you, Steven! You won't regret it!"

"Thanks, Dad!"

He gulped again as they sat down. "However, Bethany, I believe you love me, but I don't want you tempted again by that…that—" His eyes went to all possible exits and entrances of the room. "That man. William Turner. I don't want you to see him without me. I believe if anything happened between you two, you were coerced. You're such a delicate, sweet little thing. I'll protect you the next time he comes ashore. Trust me," he said, patting her hand.

Isabelle had never seen her father act so … chivalrously. Normally he was cold, unfeeling, and harsh. She was just a bit confused, but her mother was lapping it up.

"Oh, darling, I won't have to worry, now," she gushed.

Isabelle wondered how her father would protect her when he looked about ready to wet himself at the very mention of Will Turner.

All too soon by Isabelle standards, they were home, again. The house looked entirely too quiet, as though it breathed and lived through the people who lived in it, and had decayed a little in their absence. Isabelle could understand that, if a house ever could get lonely.

The day came when Will Turner was supposed to step on land for twenty four hours. Isabelle had gone into town to fetch some milk for her mother. Bethany was planning on making a marvelous feast to celebrate their keeping of the house.

She walked through the town, waving at the people she knew, eying the people she didn't. She noticed Tia Dalma was no longer in sight. She found her cart along side of the road. Stooping to inspect it, as it was turned over on the ground, she was spotted by one of the older village locals.

"She's dying," he'd remarked.

"Oh?" Isabelle responded. "From what?"

"Old age, it seems. She hinted that she was well over one hundred. She's quietly dying in one of the huts by the sea."

"How long has she got left?"

"She'll have passed by nightfall."

Startled by this bit of information, Isabelle thanked the man and made her way to the huts. Very few of the villagers lived in huts, so there were only a few huts that were left from an ancient tribe that lived on the island before Elizabeth Turner had arrived.

Feeling very lucky, she peered into the first hut, and found the elderly woman.

"Ah, Miss Turner," she croaked. She was lying in a bed of hay, and she indeed looked like death warmed over. "Come to say good bye to an old woman, aye?"

"I'm Isabelle Mason, Tia. Why are you dying?" she asked gently as she kneeled before her.

"Still Miss Turner to me, girlie. Indeed, 'dis old body be dyin' but I'm not done. No. Calypso's work is never finished. 'Dis body be dyin' because it be exactly two hundred and seventy years old today. I felt bad for Missus Turner leavin' her love, so when I told 'dem 'dat she could not be wit him for eternity, I bound myself in 'dis form, and aged for her until she passed on. A sort of penance as it be." It hurt for the woman to get this all out. "It's no fun aging, Miss Turner. Better to die young and not suffer achy bones and breaking hips." With that, she laughed. "Now go. You know who I am, now. 'Dere be no need for you to be here. Stand watch for Will Turner. He be needing you 'dis night."

Unsure of this information, Isabelle simply nodded and left. What did she mean? Will would be needing her? For what? Confused, she bought her mother's milk and went back to the house. It struck her then. _Will would be more emotional than usual. He could fear for the chest._

She snuck into the attic behind the dresser as she had ten years ago. The chest was not as covered in dust as it had been the first time because of her slipping in to sleep with it in the past ten years. She grabbed the chest and snuck out of her house. Walking down to the rocky beach, she noticed a rocky formation that would aid her in waiting. They couldn't see her there from the house, and she could peer out to sea and wait. It was only noon, but she would wait.

She sat there for seven and a half hours. Seven and a half hours! She almost began to think that the sun would never set. She clung to the chest, anxiously waiting for the owner of the heart to visit and make sure it was safe. For she would keep it safe forever. She would promise him that.

A nervous laugh escaped her when the flash of green exploded in the sky.

* * *

A/N: I love reviews. I really do. But you know what I love better than reviews? Constructive reviews! You know, your reviews of "I love it! Update soon!" are wonderful. Truly and greatly wonderful. But you see, I'm trying to become a better writer. You could help me by stating out discrepancies, saying exactly _what_ you liked about it, talking about your opinions of my characterization, whether or not Isabelle is a Mary-Sue…you know, talk a little! I'll like it, don't worry! 


	7. Held Hostage

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

A/N: So, I'm finishing up chapter nine, now. It's to be called… Craftwrecked and in Trouble. If that's not the greatest hint, but not, ever… -insane laughter-.

* * *

Held Hostage:

A nervous laugh escaped her when the flash of green exploded in the sky.

She couldn't hazard a guess at what this encounter would entail. Would he just stand there and say "Elizabeth," again? Or would he speak to her like he did her mother? Isabelle didn't know. To her, time stopped. It had to have. That's why the ship hadn't appeared, yet.

She, again, began to puzzle out Tia's last words to her. The woman was a mystery, all right. Was she the goddess Calypso who had ensnared Jones into ferrying the dead? She couldn't remember; everything was so confusing. _As it should be,_ she thought, _it all happened over two hundred years ago!_ It boggled her mind that Jack Sparrow was still alive.

_After all, he is a pirate. According to historical resources, pirates didn't last very long in the pirate business. Boy is Jack an anomaly! _Her thoughts were fast and furious awaiting the _Flying Dutchman_. Would he never come?

In what seemed like hours that Isabelle knew just _had_ to be minutes, she began to nod off to sleep. She'd shake herself awake with a yawn, and continue looking out into the horizon. There was no new speck on that horizon.

The heart's beating began to quicken, almost faster than any mortal heart could endure, and Isabelle began to be very afraid. Did something happen to him? She thought he couldn't die unless someone stabbed his heart, and the chest lay locked upon her lap.

"Isabelle?" shocked her out of her stupor.

"What?" she gasped.

Her mother had come to check on her. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine…wait a minute," she paused. "How'd you know I was out here?"

Her mother gave a little smile. "I saw you when you passed the kitchen. Are you sure you don't want to come in and have dinner? If he's going to be here, he'll just come in. He knows to do that. You can come inside," she suggested lightly.

"No, that's okay. His wife completely died today. I'm sure he'll just want to check up on his chest and then be on his Jones-y way."

Bethany chuckled a little at that. "I'm sure. But you know, a watched pot never boils. It would help you pass the time if you weren't watching for him every second."

Isabelle shook her head. She understood her mother was trying to help, but she didn't mind waiting for him. "It's fine, Mom. Go back to Dad before he starts to get paranoid, again."

"If you say so, sweetheart." Her mother placed a kiss on her forehead and headed back to the house.

She would wait all night and all day if that's what it took. She would! And she wouldn't fall asleep!

The night sky really was a marvel on Sparrow Island. So many stars sparkled; Isabelle wondered how the sky could hold them all. She stared at them, musing on the intricacy of the universe. In her watching, a shooting star flashed over her head. She smiled at it, and wished that she could see Will tonight.

Her eyes closed for a brief second, letting her know that she was very tired. But she couldn't sleep! If she slept, she'd miss him completely if he came, she knew. From what she knew about him, if he came ashore and saw her asleep, he wouldn't wake her. He'd be gone by the time she woke up. _Can't sleep,_ she told herself, _do not sleep…_

She occupied herself by counting the stars or watching the waves. She thought about the dream she had before the storm had overtaken the _U.S.S. Marincora_. Was that how it all went down? Did Calypso really go back on her bargain? There had to be a missing piece somewhere.

Lo, and behold, to her tired eyes, the sun began to rise, and still no _Flying Dutchman_. Hardly daring to believe he wouldn't come, Isabelle looked at the sun in anger. Still, she wasn't completely dense to the fact that she'd have to wait awhile. She'd put on her bathing suit underneath her baggy clothes. Wanting to pass the time, she set the chest on the rock and disrobed to her bathing suit.

It was a black tankini with shorts that the design of little Jolly Rogers. A little joke to herself. She stepped into the water and felt the pull of the ocean, again. She gave in a few steps, reveling in the water lapping against her feet. The ocean truly was a glorious thing.

Or at least, that's how she felt until something rose up like a demon from the depths. Isabelle tried to scream, but found the thing before her so scary she had no air. She backed up as she got a full frontal look of the thing before her.

His skin was ugly, slimy beige, and his face was made of tentacles. One of his hands was a lobster claw, and his garb was rotted and old. His bloodshot blue eyes froze to the bone. He growled to complete the look of evil. "Where's the chest?" he snarled.

Isabelle couldn't speak. She couldn't think. She just backed up out of the water and fell on her butt on the beach. She pushed herself up, farther away from the monstrosity before her, ignoring the sand she was gathering in her shorts.

"Give me the chest!" he barked, and made to come closer.

Now, Isabelle found her voice and screamed so loud the entire island must have heard her. All the better for everyone to hear her. Her mother came running at the sound of her daughter's yell.

Bethany stopped dead in her tracks. "Davy Jones," she muttered while Isabelle ran to the chest. "You're supposed to be dead."

He simply laughed an evil, creepy guffaw that rattled his rotting tentacles. "Who says I'm not?" He took another step closer to land.

It struck Bethany then. She grabbed a handful of dirt and ran to the coast line. "Leave my family alone," she warned. Jones made a face at her, daring her to do anything. And Bethany dared. She whipped that dirt into Jones' face.

Screaming in agony, Jones melted back into the sea, grabbing at his face.

"What in the _hell_ was that?" Isabelle asked, clutching the chest to her. Her eyes were wide with terror, her breathing uneven. Was it just her, or was the heart in the chest mimicking the exact pace her own heart was beating?

"That, dear, was Davy Jones." Bethany looked at her daughter. "You are now restricted from going on the beach. I was told once that Davy Jones couldn't walk on ground, but he can walk on sand. I'm not sure if that's true, but I'm not going to test it. You and the chest are going back into the house right this second."

"But—"

"No buts, Isabelle. I'm dead serious. That man will not hesitate to kill you." Bethany embraced her daughter. "And I'll be damned if you get hurt because of those stupid stories."

That was the first time Isabelle had ever heard her mother swear. It was quite strange. She nodded in agreement, and the two of them went back inside. Isabelle re-hid the chest, refusing to cry. She felt a little bit like she was stood up. Shaking her head, she knew that was a ridiculous feeling, but she still felt it. From then on, she swore to never again let the legends rule her life. Any of her traveling from then on would be in the air, and she would never again let the sea and all its beauty hold her hostage.

* * *

A/N: Thank you, those who have stepped up to the plate with delivering amazingly helpful reviews! Oi look! A new reviewer! And, I've decided against the reply to reviewer bar. I enjoy looking back and matching up the reviews with the messages in the chapters.

**Dani-celebrindel**: Well, the idea of the legends is so that you get them confused with Isabelle, so you're essentially in the same boat she is, unsure and not knowing where to turn. Yes, that is the idea. Thanks for the review! I'm glad you're sticking around.

**Digisammiegirl**: We shall see, won't we… We shall see indeed. Thanks so much for reviewing.

**Apocalypse Cabaret**: I feel absolutely honored that you say that. Thank you so much for the review.

**Movie-CaffineAddict**: Welcome, and I agree wholeheartedly with "Yay for constructive reviews!" –smile- Aw, you called my idea brilliant. You'll see quite a bit of Will later. But first there's so much Jack you might start to get suspicious. The family is quite interesting. Would you believe me if I told you they evolved out of the story rather than I planned them? Maybe later Isabelle will have a dream where she _is_ her father as he gets scooped up by the _Dutchman_. Who knows? Thanks very much for the review.

**Almenel-Miriel**: Awesome, about Isabelle not being a Mary-Sue. I was worried there. And the limit gets pushed again later. We'll see if you agree after chapter eight. Oh I am very happy. I like this story. If only I could make it a movie…-smile-. You are truly psychic, you know that? Especially because there's more mother-daughter interaction in this chapter. And it was certainly written before your review came to my happy inbox. Thanks a lot for your review.

Do you lot see, now? If you talk to me, I'll talk back! –le gasp–, and I'll probably even throw out hints… erm… _on accident_, of course. Read and review like nice people! I know you're seeing this. You don't get 1,524 hits from five reviewers. O.o Right?


	8. Six Years Later

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

* * *

Six Years Later: 

Isabelle Mason was a successful Travel Agent on Sparrow Island. She had single-handedly persuaded the small town to give way to tourists. Buildings were refurbished, electricity fixed, eateries added… All in all, Isabelle was proud of the villagers she grew up with.

She was little taller now than she had been six years ago. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a sensible bun. She wore a large tee shirt and cut off shorts. The big difference between now and then was the look in her eyes. As a teenager, life was a wonder. She was curious, wondering. Now, the steel made her brown eyes cold, and she gained a more cynical edge.

She had kept the vow she'd made six years ago. She hadn't swum in the ocean since, and she avoided looking at it as best she could. It hurt, but she understood the consequences. One look at Davy Jones had set her right.

Of course, that hadn't really happened. None of it did. It was all a game of pretend her seventeen year old mind had made up. There was no chest. No Will Turner. No Jack Sparrow. Alright, he was real, but he was just lying to her about actually being from the eighteenth century. The legends weren't real. None of it was important. Not in the day to day living.

Isabelle had grown into a lovely young business woman, set upon bringing the island money. At the age of eighteen, her parents had enough of island life. They packed up and moved to the states, leaving her the house. Still, for all her success, it didn't stop food from spoiling.

She pulled the lunchmeat out of the fridge, frowning at the smell. She'd have to go and get more. She sighed and tossed out the meat. Quickly, she checked her wallet, made a few calculations, and made to go to the little market down the street. She didn't have enough, but she was prepared to haggle with the clerk. She knew Isabelle, and, well, Isabelle cared very much for money. It was a shame the lovely, large entirety of it was tied up with the house and trust funds. Her phone rang to stop her from her travels and thoughts.

"Isabelle Mason. May I ask who's calling?" she answered with a small smile.

"Isabelle, honey, it's Mom. How are you?" her mother replied in the flowing, musical voice of hers.

_Just what I needed_, she mused sardonically. "I'm all right. How about you and Dad?"

"Oh, we're just great! I love it here in the states. We were able to afford a small piece of beach property. Still, it doesn't compare to home." There was a small tinge of homesickness there, and Isabelle felt it. Bethany _had_ lived in this house for her entire life. "How is the chest?" her mother asked in a hush.

Isabelle wasn't quite sure how to answer her. "I don't know. I put back in the attic and locked the door. I'm done with that foolishness, Mother." The tonality of her voice caused Bethany to worry and to change the subject.

"Have you gotten any men in your life, yet? It would make me positively glow if you had a steady boyfriend. I hear you're all by yourself most of the time."

"I like living alone," she replied simply. It was true. It was easy, and she didn't have to worry about anyone else's strange idiosyncrasies once she'd put her own away.

"If you insist. Well, your father wants to speak to you," Bethany said, a little disappointed. "Good bye, honey. I love you."

"Bye, Mom." Sometimes, Isabelle wondered how her father put up with her mother's flightiness.

"Hey, kiddo. I heard about the booming business you've started on Sparrow Island," her father's voice proclaimed.

Isabelle laughed lightly. "I'd hardly call it booming, Dad. We've had a few tourists, and all of them were happy. Especially because there was no one to nick their money in the streets."

"That's excellent for business." His voice was bouncing with pride for the budding island tycoon. "You've really gotten your head on straight. I was worried for the first seventeen years of your life, but boy have you proven me wrong!"

Isabelle couldn't help but smile. Her father had that way of making her feel all was right in her sensible little world. "Thanks."

"Listen, we were thinking about visiting some time in the near future. We'll call again in a week to see how your schedule's shaping up. Your mother really misses the island. Sound good?"

"Yeah."

"Take care, oh daughter of mine. I love you."

"Bye, Dad. I love you, too." Then Isabelle was met by the dial tone.

Her parents. They sure were something else. She opened her door and noticed something very strange on the beach. A dinghy had been pushed ashore. Approaching it, Isabelle found an empty bottle that smelled of rum. Hardly daring to believe that _he_ would find her here, she looked around. He wasn't in or by the boat.

Thinking she'd lost him, she stood straight up and continued her walk to the market. When she got on the main road, she heard him.

"Oi! There you are!" Jack Sparrow called. "Stop!" He was very, _very_ drunk.

Isabelle kept going.

"No, no, no, stop!" he pleaded.

"What do you want, Mr. Sparrow?" she asked coolly, turning around to face him.

Because his reflexes were so out of whack, he almost ran straight into her. He found himself very close to Isabelle's face. Backing up a little, he went on. "I want you to stop, because the stopper intends to explain why he needs the stoppee to stop so he can stop stopping the stoppee and we can all stop," he responded dumbly. He staggered and stumbled, even though he was standing still. "I been lookin' for you. Damn nigh impossible since you stopped lovin' the sea."

"And why were you looking for me?"

"I might'a' been wrong 'bout some o' the things I told you before," he slurred.

"That's right; you were misinformed. But I doubt you realize to what extent." She turned to keep going.

"Oh bugger," he muttered, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head, passing out.

Isabelle heard him hit the ground and returned back to him. He was out cold. Sighing in frustration over her compassionate nature, she got some of the villagers to help her, and together they brought Jack in and laid him down on her living room couch.

She did not want to admit that she was curious as to why he was here. She didn't muse on it long, however, as she noticed his face was a little more puffy than usual. Did that usually happen when people get drunk? She felt his head and feared. It was cold. Worrying about him, she grabbed two blankets from her closet across the room and covered the sleeping man. Thinking after a bit, she removed the blankets and reached into his pockets. Cursing to herself, she realized they were empty, and she recovered him with the blankets, resuming her concern for his health.

Isabelle quickly remembered exactly who she was worrying over. According to this man, he'd been alive for more than two centuries. He should know better than to get this drunk. If he was as old as he said he was, he'd be a little bit wiser. Well, after awhile, Isabelle went back to living, leaving Jack Sparrow passed out on her couch. She figured when he woke up, he'd make himself at home whether she was there or not.

So when Jack woke up to an empty house, the first thing he did was close all the shades. Then he located the bathroom.

Isabelle had just gotten back from the market to hear the belligerent, violent sounds coming from her restroom. Putting down her purchases, she knocked gingerly on the door.

"Jack? Are you all right?"

"Peachy, love—" His words were cut off by more of the violent regurgitating.

_Obviously_. She waited for him to exit. When he did, he seemed surprised to see her.

"You live here, aye?"

"No, Jack. I sleep here to piss off the owner," Isabelle replied with a smile.

"Really, love, you need to drop the sarcasm. It doesn't become you in the slightest." He walked back to the couch and sat down. "Now, how did I end up here?"

"You showed up on my beach, strolled up to me, and demanded I _stop_ and listen to you. You then passed out. I had help bring you into my house so that you wouldn't wake up in the middle of the road. Before that? I have no idea." Attitude and frustration laced every word that came out of her mouth.

"You don't have to be so mean about it. Oi, me head." He rubbed his temples, an expression of pain on his face.

"Is that a hangover, Jack Sparrow? I thought you'd been around enough to build up your alcohol tolerance. You know, I'm sure two centuries means you could drink anyone under the table." She said this in a sickly sweet voice, hoping to get him to confess to lying.

"Captain. It's Captain Jack Sparrow. And I _can_ drink anyone under the table. What did I drink?" His memory searched long and hard. "Oh right. Ever-clear. Be careful of that stuff, love. Even the most experienced of us drinkers can't handle it quickly and in obnoxious amounts." He blinked a couple times. "And I think that's exactly what I did."

The strange monkey that had followed Isabelle for a short time chose to make its presence known at this point by screeching in Jack's face. With a yell, Jack pulled out his pistol and shot clean through the monkey.

Isabelle stared in shock and horror. "You just shot that—"

"Undead monkey!" Jack roared as the little creature scattered. He stood up to follow it. "You'd better run! I haven't seen you in more than two centuries, so help me if you annoy me, again!" He stopped at the doorway to the living room.

"It's still alive?"

"No. It's been dead for more than two hundred and seventy years. Rather, undead, as you just saw." Jack looked exhausted.

Isabelle had to steel herself against feeling sorry for him, even though he had just tried to hurt that monkey. Granted, it was undead, so it didn't kill him, but still. Slowly, the armor she had built up was starting to chink. She could not deny the curiosity about his visit, though. "What misinformation did you give me that day in Tortuga?" she asked.

"What?" He looked completely confused, as though he'd never thought that before. Pausing, he stroked his beard. Then it dawned on him. "Right, right. Pirate King. Well, there are several things you have to set straight before you are made the Pirate King, savvy? First off, you must be a pirate." As time passed, his headache lessoned, and his words came out faster and more clearly.

"Which I'm not." She would have thought that was obvious.

"Wrong. Are you not descended from pirates?"

She nodded, suspicious of his questioning. What game was he playing?

"Did you not have a keen understanding and love of the sea?"

She had to admit that she did, at one point. "Not anymore."

"Present state notwithstanding, therefore, irrelevant. Are you not completely obsessed with treasure?" He gained back life as time went on, as though his body was quickly healing itself from the apparent alcohol poisoning.

"No, I'm not," she retorted. What made him think he knew her?

"Wrong, again. Even though from the rumors, it sounds like your definition of treasure _might_ have changed. I hear you're quite focused on it." He thought for a moment. "Have you stolen anything?"

She couldn't believe he was asking her this. "Stolen? Doesn't everyone steal? I don't make a habit out of it, if that's what you mean."

"Right, that's why you attempted to pick me pockets whilst I was incapacitated on your couch."

Her look was incredulous.

"You did say that you didn't make a habit out of it." His eyes perked up when he got another thought. "Are you not an opportunist?"

"Isn't everyone?" She still didn't understand.

He smiled that triumphant grin. "Congratulations, love. You're a pirate. That means you are Elizabeth Swann-Turner's Pirate Lord Successor, since she didn't name one when she completely died. So, between us Pirate Lords… We have to vote for a king. Who do you vote for?"

Isabelle's head spun because Jack was talking so fast. What was he saying? She shrugged. Was this some sort of trick? "You, I guess."

"No! That's not what you're supposed to say! Pirate Lords always vote for _theirselves_. That's what you do!" She was silent. "Go ahead, vote for yourself. Say your name, though."

"I vote for Isabelle Mason," she said with uncertainty. She shook her head in confusion. What was he playing at?

"Good! I vote for Isabelle Mason, as well. Congratulations, you are now the Pirate King of the Brethren Court. The court is supposed to convene in about a couple months or so, so be ready for a multitude of guests."

Then it hit her. Jack Sparrow _wasn't_ lying. He was the pirate that had broken Brethren Court tradition and voted for someone other than himself. "You're not lying," she muttered.

"Now, why would I go and do a thing like that?" he replied in a hurt tone.

"This is amazing…" Feeling the threat of her old beliefs, she shook her head. "No. No, this can not be happening. You planned those legends so that you can come and ruin what I've set up here on Sparrow—" _The island's named after him_. She couldn't believe it. Her breathing quickened. This man was telling the truth. Everything she'd been told. Everything that had happened to her as a teenager. It wasn't a lie. Being overwhelmed as she was, Isabelle Mason fainted on her living room floor.

"I hate it when they do that."

* * *

A/N: So, sometime during the last chapter, the hits on this story exceeded the year of which this whole shebang started, and the actual current year. Exciting, isn't it? Now, if all those who read would leave a review, all would be right with the world! -get the hint?- These people did! 

**Apocalypse Cabaret**: I most certainly can give you a reason for Davy Jones. He is evil. Calypso is dumb. End of story. He simply said "Screw it! I'm gonna take back the _Dutchman_, maybe exact some revenge, oo! and have a piña colada!" Okay, that's not exactly verbatim, but -shrug-, you know. Tentacle men are strange like that. Thanks for the review!

**Movie-CaffineAddict**: I try to be prompt, but that was actually the longest I let the story go without an update since its conception. Shocking, isn't it? I was trying to get ahead, and now I am, thank God. And now I can tease you with "I know what's going to happen and you don't! Nyah nyah!" Not like I would ever do that _on purpose_… -smile-. Ain't that the truth about Calypso and her promises. I plan to pursue the angle of ignorant Calypso to the highest degree. Oh, and um…thank you? You unwittingly inspired the idea of why Davy Jones hasn't come back 'til now. About Jack, he'll never tell. He answered in the very typical, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," sort of way. And I personally don't think we'll ever know. Unless it shows some significant plotline, at which point I'll probably have to make it up. It's bad (Will's situation). Really bad. After two hundred and seventy years…Poor guy. Aw, you like Isabelle. That makes me happy. I wonder if you'll still like her I wonder after the next couple chapters. Remember how she was, last chapter. Cherish it. She doesn't. Thank you for your review.

**Crazy Hyper Lady**: Did you like the gasp thing? I almost keeled over laughing after I typed it. That, and the piña colada, thing. Oh, laughter is truly great. And you are absolutely correct with the sand being land. But you know how legends go. People muck them up, and Bethany is only looking out for her daughter. Thanks much for the review!

**Digisammiegirl**: I'm glad someone appreciated that damn bathing suit. I want one! XD. After this chapter, I think, you'll realize how fully whatever character change has occurred. We'll certainly see some of Mr. William Turner in the next four chapters. Thanks for the review!

**Almenel-Miriel**: That's great that you weren't expecting him. I really wasn't either, to tell you the truth. Oh man, there's going to be so much Jack next, as a matter of fact. He is a joy to write and play with! She looks like Elizabeth…Isn't Keira Elizabeth? Why would they look different? Well, I've never seen Keira without the premise of Elizabeth Swann, so I don't know how she looks otherwise. -shrug- For all intensive purposes, she looks like Elizabeth. Poor Will…-le sigh-. All your questions will be answered, but, heed this, there is so much more that has to happen. Every main character wants something, and they aren't going to stop until they get it.


	9. First Order of Business

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

* * *

The First Order of Business:

When Isabelle awoke, she heard sizzling. Not wanting to believe that Jack would destroy her house, she entered her kitchen and glared at him.

He was behind her stove, deftly maneuvering a pan.

"What are you doing?" she asked, just wanting him to leave her alone.

"I'm making you dinner."

"Grilled cheese?" she asked when she saw. "Of all the things in my house, you choose to make _grilled cheese_?"

"I've tried some strange food, and nothing compares to a nice, simple fried cheese sandwich."

"And if I told you I wasn't hungry?"

"Then you will have gone and hurt me feelings." He pushed the sandwiches onto a plate with a spatula. "And you don't want to hurt me feelings."

Isabelle sighed and sat down at her table. Jack handed her a plate with a tower five sandwiches high. "I can't eat this many," she commented.

Jack just shrugged it off and sat across from her. "Now, what be your first plan of action as Pirate King?" he asked.

"What's normally the first thing Pirate Kings do?" she replied and took a bite out of the first sandwich.

"It's been said that the first thing to do is to commandeer the first ship you see and celebrate on that ship, allowing your prisoners to take part in the revelry."

"Because that makes complete sense."

"Darling, we're pirates. We don't have to make sense." He took a sandwich from the pile.

"Hey, I thought that was mine!" Isabelle whined.

"I thought you didn't want that many." Jack chewed some sandwich, some random thought on his mind. "Since you have stated your disbelief in the Code and your opinion on the sensibility of pirates, I would assume that you have no knowledge of seafaring, pirating, or any other type of fighting. Is that correct?"

She nodded. _Maybe he'd give up and go away_…No such luck.

Jack put down his sandwich and started going up stairs.

"Excuse me, just where do you think you're going?" she called at him as she got up to follow him.

He said nothing, turning down corridors and going up more stairs. He stopped suddenly at a white door in a corridor with mostly other brown ones. "I take it you've yet to come upon this door, aye?"

Isabelle caught up to him, breathing with difficulty. "Never. Seen. It. Before." Between each word was a labored breath. She ate healthier than she did as a teenager, so she figured she wouldn't have to run every day any more. Obviously this was not the case.

Jack made a face and opened the door. Behind it lay stairs descending into a dark room. He nodded and searched for a light switch. When he found it, he gestured for Isabelle to follow.

The stairs seem to go on forever. Where they below the house? "What is this? And how did _you_ know it was here and I didn't?" she asked as she inspected the room.

Everywhere in the dingy room were articles of armor and weapons from all different sorts of time periods. In one corner lay fine swords, typical of military gentlemen for ceremonies. In another were broadswords and cutlasses, dusty from lack of use. All sorts of guns littered the floor, and a cannon was even on its side on the floor.

"Elizabeth Turner had this room built beneath the house as a miniature armory. Being the Pirate King and all, especially with a family, there was a need for such items as this for defense. Now, we just need it for training and such," he explained as he dug through one of the piles of swords.

"Training?" she repeated dumbly.

"Of course. You don't think I'm the only immortal, do you? There be Immortals that be lookin' for the Pirate King, simply to get him— her to relinquish the title."

"Relinquishing meaning dying?"

"Aye." He pulled up a couple things. "Here we are. A couple wooden training swords," he declared.

"Wood?"

"Well, as you've never trained with steel before, it seems a bit useless to stick you with a sword you couldn't carry." He held out the smaller of the two swords. It wasn't saying much as it was thick and longer than Isabelle's arm.

She grasped its handle, trying to gauge how much it weighed. It didn't feel like too much. Until Jack let go, that is. Then an act of gravity had Isabelle's arm dropping like a stone.

"This is only wood?" she asked incredulously. "I don't believe it."

"No, it's not only wood. It was a fine invention by a noted blacksmith as a training sword. There is a smaller sword, a metal one inside the wooden casing. Even still, you're much weaker than I anticipated," he commented as she tried lifting it, again.

When she finally was able to balance it, Jack declared that they ought to practice outside. It would give them more room.

The evening was overcast and not too hot. She stood in her backyard, wondering how he was going to teach her to sword fight.

"Wait a minute," she commented as he joined her. "Nobody fights with swords any more. It's a hobby for some now. It's called fencing, and it's set up so no one gets hurt," she informed, thinking he had clearly missed that phenomenon back in Europe.

"Er… well… That is to say…" He clearly had _nothing_ to say. He indeed looked like a little child that had been caught sneaking candy. "Eh… What'll it hurt?" he asked finally. "Besides, if you haven't got a pistol, you could use a stick, a club, a sword, any elongated object, and if you know how to use a sword, you can protect yourself."

Isabelle got the _distinct_ feeling that there was something he wasn't telling her. Still, the curiosity got the best of her, and he was right. What would it hurt?

"Alright, so I'm going to try to hit you, and you try to block it," he warned, changing the subject.

Isabelle held the sword up, managing to hold it with one hand, awaiting the blow. However, it didn't fall, as Jack was merely staring at the way the swords were positioned. There was something wrong, he noted, as both swords were on the same side. They should have been opposite.

He nodded with understanding. "You're holding it with the wrong hand, love."

Isabelle gave him a funny look. "Uh, no. I'm left-handed. I can't hold it up with my right hand alone."

This surprised Jack, mostly because when he was a child, any notice of children being left-handed was severely treated. He'd never been, but he'd seen them being beaten because they'd braid rope with the left hand, or never quite learn the proper way to shake hands because they'd use the wrong hand. Not until very recently did he notice an acceptance of this. He used to poke fun at nuns in private schools, but he also comforted the children he'd come across with bruised wrists or hands. It amused him that this day and age allowed this sort of unnaturalness. Of course, he was more than ever strengthened in his belief that Isabelle _was_ indeed a pirate. He didn't say any of this, though. She was already beginning to get suspicious.

"Hm." It was all he said, but Isabelle got the feeling that his mind was thinking a lot more than his mouth was moving. "Alright then. This time, I _am_ going to hit you, and you are going to try to block it, savvy?"

Isabelle nodded, thinking she was prepared.

Jack jabbed at her left shoulder forcefully. Isabelle hadn't tried to block it and really hadn't moved at all. She did recoil from the hit, though.

"Ow!" she exclaimed, clutching her shoulder with her right hand. "That hurt!"

Jack sighed. "As it should have. You have a sword for a reason, lass. Move it to block the thrust!"

He tried again, and Isabelle swept her sword in a circle to the right.

"Wrong again. If you going to use that motion, which is clumsy, but effective, you must divert the sword away from your body, savvy? Looksie where the sword would have gone if I'd been trying to kill you." He slowly repeated the motion, reacting as though she did the sweep to the right again. He stopped the sword at her porcelain throat, and pushed in a little. "You'd be dead." He had his work cut out for him. "Now, I understand you're an utter novice at this sort of thing, so I won't be teaching you fancy footwork or any complex movements. The main thing is that you can protect yourself. Which, apparently, you can't. Now, let's try, again."

They went over basic blocking and other assorted defense moves until late at night.

"Shall we carry on tomorrow?" he asked.

Isabelle, now sweaty and disgusting, groaned. She didn't like this at all. "Do I _have_ to?" sounding a lot like the teenager she'd buried six years ago.

"Yes." His answer, curt and to the point, dismayed Isabelle even more. Of course he barely looked like he was bored. Even though the hits got faster and harder, he still looked like he'd walked out of a Hollywood trailer.

"Tomorrow I'm free, but the day after that I have a meeting with a ship owner in the U.S. He wants to know about Sparrow Island, so I'll be gone the entire day."

"Finally going back on a boat, then?" he asked with unmasked hope.

Isabelle shook her head. "No dice, buddy. Taking a little plane flown by an old friend of mine. After being confronted by Davy Jones, I don't ever want to have to return to the sea, again," she added with a chilling note.

Jack, of course, thought she meant Will, and wisely said nothing.

* * *

A/N: That's more like it, folks! So I have people to talk to! Yay!! You lovely eight are so magnificently amazing! 

**Apocalypse Cabaret**: Did you mean the movie suggestion as a "You need help with the character form of Jack." ? Because I'm about as subtle as a stone hammer, and don't feel any subtlety myself any lighter, so if I need to write him better, say so. I'll try and see that movie. Or did you merely just throw it out there as a "Hey! Johnny acts like this guy! See it!" ?? I don't know. I'm awfully tired. Thanks for the review!

**Acacia59601**: There is so much I put her through, oh man. Here is an update for you! Thank you for your review.

**Movie-CaffineAddict**: If you say so. You must've been traumatized as a reader (not many updates for you?). Thanks very much for the Jack compliment. Oh he is so fun. YAY! You caught the switching from Mom to Dad thing! Yay!! Gold star for you! Not necessary _at_ Shipwreck Cove. If it always had to be there, why did Beckett need the location? Couldn't he just have looked it up in pirate history? Not like he isn't privy to that or anything… So far, they're technically the only living Pirate Lords, as the Pirate Lords need to be pirates. So far, the successors don't know they're pirates, and will end up on Sparrow Island by chances and circumstances unknown. I mean, what? I didn't just say that. But they will be asking why the two of them just up and elected her King. They'll explain it when it happens. Thank you so much for the kind review.

**Almenel-Miriel**: Oh yeah. I told you there'd be a lot of him, didn't I? Just remember that Jack _is_ Jack, so things that may seem odd have reasons, just not obvious ones. Since when did fainting make a Mary-Sue? -evil smile- I think I'll let you wait and guess… Thanks for the review!

**PearlSparrow13**: Yes, yes, there will be Will –insert radio noise here– in the future. Here is another update, and thank you for reviewing.

**Blue-buggy**: Glad to know you like this! Well, I think you would have a hard time with predicting as it hasn't got much of an actual plot going, yet. Well, it kinda does, but the serious stuff is coming up. Like the supernatural action adventure stuff. Awesome, and thank you for your review!

**Vicster200**: Heck yes! Thank you. You and I, we love the same lines. I respect that, admire that, relish that. I'm really glad you pick out particular parts you liked. It makes me happy, especially when you pick out the part that makes me giggle.

**Digisammiegirl**: She buried that teenager inside of her, not killed her. Glad you loved the faint. I did, too. Yeah, figuring out how to write the stopping sentence gave me a headache. You see, I have a habit of seeing the movie in my head before I go to sleep. Like, where my story should go, things like that. Well, I wake up, and I can't remember it! And it worked so well! I'm convinced the stopping sentence wasn't as forced as it was here in my head, but I couldn't remember it. But I had to put it in there. I had to. It was drunk Jack. Come on! Thanks for your review!

Read and review, please? This was kind of a filler / clue dropping chapter. Don't worry, this clue you won't understand until the end. Well, close to the end. Or maybe even closer to now. Oh well, when a certain something happens, it will all make sense to you. So go on, review! Or no more Captain Jack! -Jack pops out of nowhere- _Oi! You can't just do that! I'm the catalyst for the whole damn thing!_ Watch me write you out of the rest. _I'm a bloody Pirate Lord!_ -evil smile- If you keep this up you won't be. -smile- Ta ta, everyone! Until tomorrow-ish!


	10. Craftwrecked and in Trouble

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

A/N: Oh lord. Prepare yourselves for a bumpy ride. (Sorry about the shrunken head reference…Jack's mum and that head from Harry Potter 3 might have had something going on…-shrug-) Seriously, though.

* * *

Craftwrecked and in Trouble:

The next day was more brutal than the one before it. Isabelle was now thoroughly convinced that her ancestors were either completely crazy or were simply made of stronger stuff than modern women. She liked to consider herself a modern woman. She could take care of herself.

Obviously not, if Jack Sparrow wielded a sword, (she had the bruises to prove it), but then again, there was only one Jack Sparrow, and so far, he was the only one to her knowledge that would ever wield a sword in this time. And he, for sure, would not be using it on her. This made the painful training all the worse for she deemed it useless.

Of course, Jack's bantering was always good for a chuckle or two, but even _his_ charm got old after awhile. Lines like "I've seen an undead monkey do better," (to which the monkey screeched as though in response) and "Maybe if you had some rum, you'd loosen up," were really only funny once.

She went to bed that night, so insanely exhausted that dreams were out of the question. So when she woke up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water, it was no strange wonder that when she went back to sleep, she dreamed. She dreamed of storms, shadows, and waves. Red eyes peered at her through branches, and warm sand was beneath her feet. The sea was turbulent and ice cold; the black clouds swirled with power. There was no sequence of events to be plotted in this dream, only a barrage of images and signs.

"Wake-y, wake-y, love," Jack called into her bedroom.

Isabelle groaned into her pillow. Jack had taken to waking her at the crack of dawn. "Don't you have something undead to do?" she called back.

"I'm not undead, just immortal. That does mean that I don't have to sleep as much as you lot. Now wake up, or else I'll start shooting down the door you so lovingly locked."

Isabelle grudgingly got up and yelled at the door, "I'm awake. You can leave now. Remember, I have that appointment in the states!"

"Oh." There was a pause. "Right. See ya later then. I'm going to buy meself some rum. Want a bottle?"

Thoroughly disgusted with the prospect, Isabelle scrunched up her face in apparent _blegh_. "No, thanks."

"If you say so. I'll get one anyways, just in case you change your mind. If not, it's just another bottle for me."

Rolling her eyes, Isabelle approached her vanity and grabbed a brush. She had to look professional for these people. Even if there was an immortal pirate currently residing in her house, Isabelle had a life to live. A life that had nothing to do with being the Pirate King of the Brethren Court.

Ten minutes later, Isabelle was dressed in a stylish dress suit in a teal color with a crème under blouse. Her make-up was light and natural, her manner professional. Perfect.

She left her house and set off for the small airport. The island was indeed small enough that cars weren't really necessary. Isabelle enjoyed the walk. As a teenager, she'd enjoyed the run even better. She'd been able to run around the perimeter of the island three times every day; that was her exercise routine. It gave her the most exhilarating views of the sea. Sighing with nostalgia, Isabelle entered the small building that was the terminal of Sparrow Island Airport.

She went through all the motions rather quickly, having known the people who worked there for quite a long time. She walked outside where her long time friend, old man Dal Icarson was waiting within the cockpit of a two-seater plane.

"Hello, Dal!" she greeted. She had to scream because the engines were already running.

"Running a bit late, aren't you?" he called back as he opened her door.

"Sorry, I had a run-in with a temporary roommate," she responded as she climbed next to him.

Dal Icarson was a balding, blonde man, and he never failed to admit he was getting old. Through the years of being a commercial pilot, he'd gained a bear gut and called it 'work related.' His eyes were small, round, and pale blue on most days. Today, however, they were a dark shade of gray. Isabelle didn't begin to puzzle what that meant.

"Oh, a _male_ temporary roommate, by any chance," Dal insinuating, elbowing her with a cheesy grin. "What's with the sour puss, now? I was only joking. You know how I like to joke with you."

"I know, but this roommate is a bit…" She searched around for the right word to describe _Captain_ Jack Sparrow while she buckled her seat belt. Unfortunately, no one word came to mind. "Difficult," she settled on.

"The best ones often are." Dal cast a dreamy look into the sky.

Laughing at the implication, Isabelle playfully punched the pilot's arm while they were taking off. "Not like that. He just sort of… showed up, drunk out of his mind and nowhere to go. I couldn't just let him lay there passed out in the middle of the road!"

"Oh, a charity case. I see," he added with a chuckle.

"You are something else, you know that?" she retorted good-naturedly.

"My wife says that all the time." He laughed a little. "Although, whenever _she_ says it, there's usually something afterward about my bunking on the hideaway…"

Isabelle roared with laughter. Dal's wife was completely nuts in love for him. She was a statuesque red head with more fire than hell hath spawned. She could be sappy romantic for some time, but her anger was terrible to behold. In Isabelle's mind, they made the perfect couple. He was gentle, kind, and generous; she was passionate, reckless, and wild. Well, at least, she had been wild in her youth. Isabelle had heard she tamed slightly. No one on the island believed it for a second.

The great, wild sea was soon beneath them, and Isabelle squirmed in her seat. She didn't like flying over the ocean. She got the feeling that they were never quite high enough.

"Still afraid, I see." It was the first thing Dal had said the whole time that had some note of seriousness to it. "You really shouldn't be. The sea is like a mother. A harsh mother, but a mother nonetheless."

"More like a harlot," Isabelle murmured, looking down at her knees.

Dal sighed. "Well, you'll be safe and sound, whatever happens, or my name isn't Dedalus Icarson!" he declared. In his enthusiasm, he took the little plane up and up and through a loop the loop and came down. "See? How'd that go?"

But Isabelle couldn't speak. She'd never done that in a plane before. Not in one over the great, gaping ocean, either. All the air was knocked out of her lungs, and she looked positively terrified.

"Aw, buck up, Isabelle. Everything's okay—"

The plane chose that precise millisecond to groan. Metal clanking against metal sounded an alarm.

"Now what could that be?" Dal muttered to himself. The wrong sounds seem to grow and Isabelle fought to breathe. "Hmm… Isabelle, be a doll and take the wheel on your side. If we start to go down, which we shouldn't, but if we do, pull the wheel towards you, got it? It's imperative you do this. Understand?" He was still calm and cool as ever, as if it were another one of his jokes.

Isabelle nodded frantically, and grabbed the wheel with both hands.

"Be steady!" Dal called back as he went to the back of the little plane. More metallic clanking ensued, but Isabelle convinced herself that this was Dal checking out the plane's parts.

_Oh Lordy_. The nose of the plane started to drop. She yanked the wheel towards her, causing the plane to jerk upwards.

"Whoa! Whoa, Isabelle! Gently, honey! It listens better than any car if you give it the chance!" Dal yelled from the back.

_There is goes again_. Isabelle pulled the wheel towards her more slowly than before. She didn't even look if they were headed anywhere. All that mattered was that they stayed in the air.

"How in the—" she heard Dal swear.

If she was frightened before, it paled in utter insignificance to the feeling of panic, now. Dal _never_ swore. It simply never happened. Not in her twenty-three years of knowing him; not in her twenty-three years of _life_.

"Dal!" Isabelle screamed back. "What's going on?"

"Erm…Well… It's ah… kinda complicated to explain in full details so, I'll ah…" He returned quickly to the main pilot's seat. He gave her what he thought to be a reassuring grin. It was really more of a grimace. "I'll just take her down, nice and gently, and we'll trigger the life preservers, and float to the next island. Everything will be fine."

"Why don't you sound like you believe that?" Isabelle managed to stutter.

"You can let go of that wheel, Isabelle honey. It's not going to do us any more good." That tone of voice would have driven Isabelle to tears if she wasn't so harried. It spoke of defeat and loss.

"What on earth—"

The nose dove straight into the ocean with amazing force, the glass shattered as it hit. Isabelle instinctively sank to the ground and covered her face with one hand and lifted the other above it, palm facing out. As the glass flew throughout the cockpit, Isabelle gave a yowl of pain. A shard of glass had sliced open her palm. Pulling back within her fetal position, she felt the invasive water press in around her. It wasn't long before she could no longer breathe. She opened her eyes and swore to herself when they stung from the salt. She felt her way around, but the plane was already completely submerged and sinking _fast_. She had to do something, or she'd be lost to Davy Jones' Locker.

_What an odd time to think about Davy Jones' Locker_. Ignoring the thought, Isabelle pushed through her window, finding most of the glass already broken through. She kicked her legs with power to get to the surface. _Almost there_, she thought.

When her head broke the surface, Isabelle greedily sucked in air through her burning throat. Whipping her head around, she could see a little island to her left. Without pausing to think, for thinking was dangerous, especially when _The Flying Dutchman _would be here soon, she swam with all of her might and strength to that island. All right, so she swam with the _rest_ of all of the might and strength she had left after the harrowing incident. She'd reached the island and crawled weakly onto land. She wasn't dead. No, far from it. And she was on land, too. Safe from both Davy Joneses for the time being. Isabelle collapsed in an exhausted heap after reassuring herself of her freedom.

So, naturally, when she awoke aboard the _Dutchman_, you can imagine her confusion.

* * *

A/N: Oh my goodness that was exhausting to write. Well, there it is, folks. Oh man, I'm so sorry Ollie and Oddball!! I didn't see your reviews when I posted chapter nine! Sorry! 

**Acacia59601**: I seriously doubt she'll be any kind of force to be reckoned with, hun. She was really bad at sword fighting. She is going to be put through the wringer, so she'll have emotional strength, if little else. Here's an update! Thank you for your review.

**Apocalypse Cabaret**: Okay. -phew- I didn't know how to take it, and over the internet, tone of voice is unheard, duh. I'd be able to tell by your tone of voice whether you meant that or the other thing…Sorry. I'm paranoid. Backup's always good. Thanks for the review!

**PearlSparrow13**: -smile- Exactly. Thank you for reviewing. Will will be in next chapter! Dun dun DUUUN!!

**Blue-buggy**: Just call me Speedy. O.o Well, I understand what you mean. I personally think he's talking far too much, but it has to be done. It's all got a reason, trust me. When Jack's motives are unfurled, well…it'll all become very clear. Never apologize for a long review! Ever! I adore them! -gasp- You like the story line? You like me! You really like me! Please wait while I dab my eyes. Thank you ever so much for your long, thoughtful review. 

**Atsukikomi**: You'll find out about Will next chapter. All the questions! My, my, how impatient. Most of those will be answered by the end of the story. Here's your update! And thanks for reviewing.

**Almenel-Miriel**: Don't you just hate that? Not that chapter eight. I actually meant chapter nine because chapter one is really the prologue. So everything's all strange. I meant "First Order of Business." That chapter. I said Mary-Sue thing because of the sword fighting. I think it's a requisite that Mary-Sues must swordfight at some point. Well, Isabelle will, and she will suck at it. Jack does make things up as he goes along, like the drinking thing. I imagine he didn't mean to end up at her house before he got drunk. –raises eyebrows- I did mention _something_ about time travel in the summary…part of his plan, perhaps? Does he have a plan? What _is_ going on in Jack Sparrow's mind? _Is _something going on in Jack Sparrow's mind? You'll find out about Will next chapter. Thanks for the review!

**Dani-celebrindel**: Thank you! See, this is why I should have review replies _in_ the story. Because I can't remember what questions I asked to get those answers. Hmmm… Well, thanks for your review!

**Tala-baby**: Awestruck, eh? That makes me happy. Yay! You like my Jack! Fantastic! –claps- Awwww, you're so sweet! Of course I'll continue. I'm just finishing up chapter 12, now. Nowhere near finished, but, you know. Thank you so much for reviewing!!

I love talking to readers. They mean so much to me. Review so I can respond. Have questions? I may or may not answer cryptically with hidden secrets. Have an opinion? I want to hear it. Did a random person just say something silly to you while you were reading this? Go ahead and tell me about that, too! Please review!


	11. Personal Space

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

* * *

Personal Space:

"Do you fear death, Miss Mason?" a grubby looking crew member leered at her. At her frightened look, he guffawed in a high pitched manner.

"Mr. Soots, I'll ask you kindly not encroach upon my duties ever again. Get above deck where you belong," a steady, somber voice commanded.

Isabelle found herself sitting up in a quiet room with hammocks. The light outside appeared to show it was still daylight. There, approaching her where she sat, was a tall man with dark hair pulled back by a black bandana. He wore a loose black shirt, open to reveal the jagged scar across his chest. She didn't need to look at his face to know who he was.

"I shouldn't be here," she said to William Turner. "If I did die, I was on land. I wasn't within your jurisdiction," she reasoned. Though her speaking was coherent, her mind was chanting an endless line of _This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This is _not_ happening…_

He nodded and began an extremely focused check up on her. Feeling extremely uncomfortable, Isabelle shifted slightly in her seat. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Making sure you're okay. My newest crewman informs me of an oath he made to you, assuring your health, back in the plane. It was at his behest that you, a living human being, be brought aboard _The Flying Dutchman_," he explained.

A man walked down into the room. He stood tall and built, military bearing Isabelle expected, with a shock of yellow hair. His eyes, pale blue and round, stared at Isabelle, a tear in his eye. "I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to do it." He sat down beside Will, and tried to examine Isabelle, but it was too much for him. He couldn't look at her without crying. "I can't do it, Captain!" Wailing loudly, he left the room.

Will sighed. There was a tense minute or so of silence. "You've really grown," he mentioned softly.

Sheer luck, she suspected, stopped her from shivering under his gaze; stopped the tremors up her spine to become visible. "Time tends to do that to people," she responded.

"So it does. So it does."

She had to ask. She couldn't stop herself. The words were out of her mouth before she even thought about it. "Why didn't you come ashore that night? Six years ago? I had stayed up all night and day, waiting for you with the chest." She looked to the ground askance, humiliated. She hadn't meant to tell him that much.

His eyes sharply met her own and locked gazes. "Do you have any idea what sort of danger you're in on this ship, now that you've told me that?" he asked softly, not once breaking eye contact.

"What?" She brought her hands to her chin to rub them together. However, it was then Will noticed her right hand bleeding severely.

"Let me see," he requested gently.

How in the hell was she supposed to comply with that after he just told her she was in danger on the ship after she told him about her stint on the beach waiting for him?

"Let me see." This time it was more of an order.

Reluctantly, Isabelle gave him her hand, and watched as he opened a small box on the table beside him. It was a First Aid Kit. He rummaged through it until he found a roller bandage. He tied it around her hand, flipping it over so he could tie the knot on the back. As he tightened the knot, Isabelle gave a sudden gasp of pain.

"Sorry. Sailor's hands. I know they're rough."

Isabelle couldn't speak. He had continued to hold her hand. She tried fixing her eyes solely on her hand, but the burning gaze of Will Turner was a captivating one. She looked up, caught in the fire. There was no turning back, now.

Before each other knew what they were doing, they were centimeters apart, hardly daring to breathe. Will's hand was behind Isabelle's neck, and Isabelle's hands itched to wrap themselves around Will. She kept them at her sides, all the same.

"Elizabeth—"

Isabelle thoroughly and suddenly came back to earth like she was doused with cold water. She pulled away as though burned. "I'm not Elizabeth, Will. I'm Isabelle Mason. Remember? Your umpteenth great grand daughter." She stormed away towards what looked like a closet. Still, it was dramatic, and so she entered the closet and slammed the door shut.

Great, now she was all hot and bothered from the man who was supposed to be one of her oldest ancestors…_Ewww_… She suppressed the urge to dust herself off. (1)

"Isabelle?" he asked as he reopened the closet door.

"Please do not invade my personal space, again, Mr. Turner," she snapped as she pulled the door shut, again.

"Isabelle, can you please calm down?" He tried to open the door.

"No." She slammed it closed again.

"Well, aren't you insufferable," Will muttered, opening the door again. This time, he propped his foot against it.

"So are you," she retorted, attempting to re-slam the door shut. When it didn't move, the force of her pulling actually brought her closer to him.

"Now who's invading whose personal space?" Will whispered into her ear.

The itch was undeniable now. Her arms snaked around him, holding on for dear life as he shifted to face her.

"Grand d—"

"Several _umpteen_ times removed," Will corrected. "I can not deny that I am attracted to you."

"Nor, apparently, can I to you," Isabelle added, more to herself than to Will.

"Shall we try this, again? The right way, Isabelle Mason?" he requested.

Her breathing had quickened to breakneck speed. _Maybe if my heart and lungs don't explode!_ That wouldn't be the right thing to say at the moment. However, she found she couldn't say anything at all. She looked rather like a deer in headlights.

With very little warning, Will's hands came around her, and he crashed his lips to hers in a dizzying match. He surrounded her with the heat, the longing. Isabelle's world spun in a blaze, becoming nothing more significant than ashes. Slowly, the heat receded, and his misery loomed. She became open, willing in her kiss, to show him peace. The fire quenched with the apparent will of the sea, the sheer thrill ebbed and flowed like the gentle tides of the ocean.

As they broke apart, each rocked to the core of their very beings, Isabelle gave an embarrassed smile. "So…eheheh, yeah. What now, o Captain my Captain?" Her voice was a lot softer than she'd anticipated and didn't seem to want to work properly. What did one do in times like this? Offer a cigarette? Say _Hey, that was great. Life changing, in fact. See ya next week for another one_? Isabelle sighed with the weight of what she'd just done.

"Captain, we're coming up on Sparrow Island fast," called someone from the deck.

As though stunned by what he'd just done, Will Turner's eyes now grew to the size of saucers. "You need to leave. Now." It was deadly, the sound in his voice.

Not daring to second guess him, Isabelle tore up the stairs. She could see her house. Blood racing, she dove into the sea, swimming her own way home. _The Flying Dutchman_ disappeared shortly thereafter, leaving Sparrow Island, her captain highly agitated.

* * *

A/N: (1:) If she had brushed herself off, it would have looked like the Black Spot thing that Gibbs, Pintel, and Ragetti did in Dead Men's Chest after Tia Dalma revealed Jack's spot on his hand. His _left_ hand, coincidentally. I do that if something is particularly unpleasant or strange. It's actually rather humorous if you ever meet me and ever mention… _The Twitch_. -I didn't just tell you that-. 

So you should review like these nice people.

**An Unknown Writer**: Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you're enjoying it.

**Bang on the head**: Hehehe, that's the first line of this chapter, "Do you fear death?" But it's not dear William! -le gasp!- Thanks for the review!

**Digismamiegirl**: Sorry. I could've left that last sentence off the last chapter, but that wouldn't be as much fun! I'm glad you liked Dal. I liked him, too. Here's what happens next. Thank you so much for your review!

**Tala-baby**: Oh, is _that_ what happened? I understand. Yeah, it was a doosy of a cliffhanger, wasn't it? -evil smile- And you'll be able to see that … uh … tension is thick. To say the absolute least. Thanks for reviewing!

**Acacia59601**: I like to make readers confused along with the main character. It helps you _bond_. I'm so glad you're still reading this. You make me happy!

**Blue-buggy**: Of course I value your opinions. Why on earth would I post a story online unless I wanted people to read it and tell me what they thought? It's amazing that some people wouldn't even acknowledge reviewers. You and Tala-baby could go to thesaurus . com and type in good words and find new ones. -smile- Thanks for reviewing!

**Almenel-Miriel**: Oh, okay. Tell me about Jack's head not being easy to get into! I can picture him fine, see what he'd do in a situation, great! My imagination likes that, it can do that. However, it's not good at seeing what he's thinking at the time. That's not so good. Of course Will had a reason. Well, Dal had a reason. Yes, Dal is cute for a fat old guy. He's one of those "Aw, look! It's a cute old man!" old men. Thanks for the review.

**Live2Sk8**: I counted, there were only three! In ten chapters? That's nothing. Pfft. -smile- That's crazy, though. My story had that much power? Thanks for the compliments and reviews. And hey, if the cliffhangers are bothering you, think about it. I got you to review, didn't I? Really, I appreciate you taking out a part of your day and telling me what you think. I'll attempt to keep the cliffhangers down to a minimum. The next three chapters shouldn't have them. I promise.


	12. He did, did he?

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

* * *

He Did, Did He?:

Isabelle's mind raced so fast she was surprised her body continued to function. She swam as fast as she could, which was not as fast as she would have liked. The shore reached her just as she started to panic about Jones, though, so she was content to have missed _that_ part of the sea.

Still, what was she _thinking_? Kissing Will? That had to be the stupidest thing she'd ever done in her entire life. Had she gone mad? And she _enjoyed _it! Hating herself she pushed herself to her feet and approached her house.

And just about died in fear.

On the outside were signs of destruction. The windows she could see were _shattered_, their glass laying on the ground beneath them. The front screen door was blown clean off. The other door hung at an odd angle off one of the hinges.

Isabelle ran into her house, dismayed at the ruin she found. Her couch was torn apart, her cabinets emptied. Everything was a mess. There wasn't even a pattern. Everything was simply overturned or thrown aside. Whoever had been here was looking for something.

_The chest_… came unbidden to her mind. In a frantic fury, Isabelle bounded up her stairs, praying to any and all gods she could think of, praying that the chest was still safe. She turned a corridor and winced as all the doors were open, stuff thrown in the hallway. It was even worse when she saw the door open that led to the room with the dresser.

She entered that room and almost started crying. The dresser was pushed out of the way to show the hole in the wall. _No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…_ her mind kept chanting. She crawled through the hole and found to her ultimate and total alarm that the chest was gone. On its table was a rectangle of dust, marking its place. The chest was nowhere in sight.

Panicking, she figured whoever stole it still had to be on the island. She tore off, again, and ran outside into town. No one was outside. Looking everywhere, Isabelle began to slow down. The person still had to be on the island. She arrived at the docks and surveyed the ships that were floating there. None were new. All of the ships docked belonged to residents of the island.

"Isabelle!" called a voice. "What are you doing back so soon, love?" It was Jack Sparrow. He'd just come out of the town pub carrying two bottles of rum.

"Jack! Oh Jack!" she cried, running up to him. "Someone's got the chest!"

Jack's face was incredulous. "How?"

"They tore apart the house. Everything is everywhere. Windows are broken and doors unhinged. Oh everything's a mess, Jack!" She was on the verge of tears.

"Alright, alright. Calm down." He put his hands on her arms, steadying her. "Even if they have the chest, Will's still got the key. All's we need to do, really, is let Will know that someone stole it and ––"

"No, we can't do that! He trusted me!" With anguish, she covered her face in her hands and gave a dry sob.

"Well, as said theif's already left, there's nothing more we can do, really."

"Yes, there has to be! Didn't you see him? Didn't _anyone_ see him enter my house? Throw my things? _Break_ my windows!?" She was getting hysterical, and she knew it. The chest was gone. What was she supposed to do?

"I was in the tavern almost immediately after you left. Not much later after _that_, a few people came in here, sayin' they had a _chill_. Tha's right. A _chill_, in the Caribbean. Not sure what it was, but they was afraid. Takes something mighty to scare Caribbean folk." Jack seemed deep in thought. "If anyone knows what's going on with the sea it's Calypso, but you said she died, aye?"

"Ay- I mean, yes. She died the night Elizabeth passed on," she filled in with a scared tone. She mentally counted to ten to adjust her breathing. _Oh, something has to be done and fast!_ Nothing was working at calming her down.

Jack smirked at the _almost_ "Aye". "Well, we can wait until the Brethren Court reconvenes, and select nine, new pieces of eight, and bind her to a human form. That has quite a few perks, actually. Or, we can wait until the Brethren Court reconvenes, and simply summon her using the power of the nine Pirate Lords to call her to us. That means she can disappear all she wants." He thought of every other trick in the book, but those were the only two options they had. He hated to keep bothering Calypso, but she was a minor sea goddess. High enough to help, but not high enough to be disinterested. Not to mention the horror she'd put the Turner family through. Jack figured that if Isabelle knew _everything_ Calypso had done to the Turner line, why, she just might've gone after the goddess and kill her herself.

Their conversation was soon interrupted by a small boat arriving at the docks. Neither Jack nor Isabelle had heard them until they rang the bell stationed at the docks to signal new comers.

"Not now! Not with the first burglary in a long time!" Isabelle whined. She paced back and forth wildly, not even thinking any more.

"Isabelle?" he asked softly. She paused to look at him. Her eyes were huge and frightened, her hands fidgeting. "I'm sorry you're a woman, love," Jack murmured, before he slapped her face, hard.

It took a second to register before she let out an "Ah!" She stood in the position his slap had put her in for a minute. "I don't think I deserved that!" She stood up, rubbing her cheek.

"You're the bloody Pirate King. We can't have you going all…all…" It seemed distasteful for him to say. "All…_womanish_ on us. Not when we're this close to having the Court all together, again."

This was the first time Jack had yelled at her about her behavior. Sure, he shouted about the sword training, but he didn't actually _yell_ at her like he just had. Really, after she had thought about it, he didn't yell, per se. It was just a rather forceful statement. Accompanied by the worst slap she'd ever received in her life.

Though she was loathe to admit it, her head was clear, now. Cursing Jack Sparrow, Isabelle rushed to the docks and smoothed out her disheveled clothing to meet the newcomers.

The boat was sheer, sleek. _Most likely a new model_. Motor-boat, Isabelle noted. Two men stepped off the ship. It seemed they were the only ones. Isabelle tried in vain to do something with her hair.

"Leave it alone, love," Jack murmured so the men wouldn't hear him. "Your hair, like the rest of you you don't want to acknowledge, loves the ocean. Let it curl and wind in the salt and sea."

Isabelle snorted at him. What did he know about hair? After all, he was a male pirate. Both were egregious marks off his fashion grade. Besides, he had bad hygiene. She at least wiped off her face to stop the smearing make-up. Caring for little things like this helped ease her mind off the big things there were to do later. Like contacting Meriel Icarson. _TOURISTS!_ her mind demanded. She plastered on her most welcoming smile and went out to greet them. Jack stayed behind, examining the rule sign on the post outside the docks.

"Hello," she said as they tied their boat to the smallest dock. "Welcome to Sparrow Island."

The first man was tall and thin. His hands worked the knot into the docks with strength and knowledge. He turned to face her, and his eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled. The wind was wreaking havoc on his dark blonde hair, causing it to stick up at impossible ends. It was just long enough to curl a little underneath his ears. "Did you hear that, Otis? We made it!" He high-fived his companion, looking joyful. "We heard about this place through friends of ours, and decided to look around." He finished tying the knot and waved to Otis. Together they walked off the docks and into the street. The blonde man stuck out his hand. "I'm Jason, Jason Alexander. This here is Otis Cias," he declared.

"I'm Isabelle Mason. Nice to meet you, Mr. Alexander, Mr. Cias," Isabelle greeted, shaking each their hands.

Otis Cias was an inch taller than Isabelle herself, his handshake was rough and strong. He was slightly stockier than Jason. His brown hair was thick, and curled wildly in the wind. He had a beard and moustache that swept to each of his sideburns. His smile was warm. "It's a pleasure," he said.

"Would you like the tour?" she offered.

Jason noticed Jack. He nudged Otis in the ribs. Nodding, Otis looked at him, too. "Not right now, thanks. Actually, it looks like that friend of ours is right there. Please excuse us a moment." The two then rushed to Jack.

Confused, she watched. Jack gave them one of his weird-confused look, the one where his head cranked backward and he tended to look down on them. She wondered what they had said. After speaking quietly for a few minutes, Jack approached Isabelle.

"Remember when I told you about the other Pirate Lords?" he asked.

Isabelle nodded. Where they two of them? She didn't even bother to ask. "I've got room for them. So are they both Pirate Lord Successors, or is only one?"

"Well, my sources have told me that the Pirate Lord Sri Sumbhajee named a Successor, a Prussian friend of his. That friend never named a Successor, and so Jason Alexander is his youngest descendant. There seems to be something more to Otis than just a sidekick, but so far he's neither said nor done anything to incur otherwise. We'll simply have to keep a sharp eye," Jack finished. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a very important date with a bottle of rum that was so very rudely interrupted. Good day." He stalked away, holding on to his bottles of rum as if they were babies. "Gentlemen," he nodded as he walked away.

The two men nodded back and looked at each other. Both shrugged. Jason mentioned something to Otis, and Otis went back to their boat. Isabelle went to talk to Jason.

"Is there anything I can get you?" she offered, not wanting to be rude.

"No, thank you. Eh…Captain Sparrow said you'd let us stay at your house. Is that all right?"

_He did, did he_? "That's fine. However, you must know, I've just been through a horrible experience." _Don't think about that!_ "My house has been burgled. It's a complete mess. I'm sorry, but you should probably spend the first night at the bed and breakfast down the street."

Jason looked to be lost in thought. Then he looked extremely sorry. Isabelle noticed him glance behind her and nod solemnly. Suddenly, he reached into his shirt and pulled out a small hand gun. "Stay where you are," he commanded at her. Even though he was holding a gun, he didn't say it with a mean tone. Still, he _had her at gun point_.

Isabelle knew there was nothing worse than staring down the barrel of a gun. There was no way that could be a good thing. It was such a complete shock to her, she didn't speak for a moment. It was then she remembered. _Pirates_. "W-why? What?"

"You're not to go anywhere without us anymore, Miss Mason. Davy Jones is back from the dead, but that's not the least of our worries. There is something bigger. Something more deadly than Jones ever could be. It wants all us Pirate Lords to do its bidding, and as Captain Sparrow told us, you are the Pirate King. If it gets you within its grasp, why…" Jason stopped. "I don't know what will happen. But I do know this. That thing had something to do with the missing heart of Will Turner. If you'll allow us, we'd like to help."

Isabelle couldn't be hearing this. They were offering to help her, at gun point? "If you are here to protect and help me, might I ask _why_ you're aiming a gun at me? I would imagine Mr. Cias is, as well."

Jason nodded. "Yes. There will come a time when each of the nine Pirate Lords must separate, and for that, Otis will go with you. We've got the guns because we didn't know how you'd react to being followed. We wanted to guarantee you wouldn't run."

"Because I could vanish completely in a little island like this," she finished sarcastically. She shook her head. "Well, I won't. Can you put your guns away, now? You're scaring me."

Jason complied, and Isabelle heard Otis do the same. "I'm sorry. We didn't know how you'd react," Otis explained. "Jack told us to take out our guns to make sure you didn't run."

_He did, did he_? Well, she'd just be having a little chat with Jack Sparrow about telling men to point guns at her. She showed the two men where her house was, marveling at the complete and utter chaos her life had become, rather like the house.

* * *

**A/N**: To those of you who think this story is Will/Isabelle, it's not. Romance is really not that big a part of it, especially later when she really doesn't see him any more. It's just there to make things more complicated.

**Doom Weasels**: Sorry this chapter took so long to get out. I wanted to get ahead so I could think about the story, and avoid spitting out random happenings to you guys. Staying ahead helps the flow of the story because I can go back. Thank you for reviewing! Don't cry!

**Acacia59601**: Who ever said they were getting married? Oh man Isabelle would flip on you! Here's your update. Thanks for the review!

**Digisammiegirl**: Not necessarily. Do not count your chickens before they hatch. Thought about Isabelle becoming her own grandmother…but then where did Elizabeth go? No, because there's still the problem of her not being able to live eternally with Will.

**Almenel-Miriel**: Thank you for all the compliments you've given me regarding Jack. I wonder if you'll still like him later… There's a ton of stuff going on and spies _everywhere_! That's so cool that people still do that!! I love superstitions, they're the best! Of course, that makes me a wimp when it comes to night-time, but what the heck, if I don't sleep they can't get me! Thank you for reviewing.

**Dani-celebrindel**: -claps- Yay! You liked the romance! Romance makes me blush when I write it. Especially this because she's his descendent and… yeah. I never get sick of comments, are you kidding? I _love_ hearing from you. I don't care if you say you like it in a hundred reviews, as long as you don't care that I'll say thank you in every single one! Thank you for your review.

**TsukiMizu**: Well, Jack was doing what Jack does best: drinking rum. Davy Jones's location is a little bit more blurry. Thanks for the review!

**Tala-baby**: Well, you gotta figure Will's on edge because he's still without Elizabeth after a really long time. It's kind of like "This is amazing…NO! Can't do it because of my late wife!" type thing… Well, we'll see what danger soon. Thank you for reviewing.

**An Unknown Writer**: Three words. I think you've set a record. -smile- Don't be afraid to say more. I'm glad you like it, and thanks for the review!

**DarkAngelmi818**: Isabelle is _not_ Elizabeth's reincarnation. Elizabeth was still technically alive when Isabelle was born. You will come to see that they are very different people. Thanks for reviewing.

**Oddball91**: You… HI! The Captain o Captain thing is a literature allusion...hmmm… I've been reading too much _How to Read Literature Like a Professor_…try and draw conclusions from that. -wiggles eyebrows- Yeah, Isabelle was kind of freaked out. Oh god now you're going to mention it just to make me twitch…great… Yeah, Jack's not nice. But let's not get into that. That might give something away. Thank you so much for reviewing!! And waiting…I did put you through an awfully long time to wait for this…

These people are amazing. Be amazing like them! Please? I really want to know what you think. Honestly. I care.


	13. The Fine Establishment of Pirate Lords

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

* * *

The Fine Establishment of Pirate Lords: 

The village came back to life in the passing days. Jack advised Isabelle that nothing was to be done about the missing chest until the other six Pirate Lords arrived. He'd told her that he found all of them in the six years since Isabelle had met him in Tortuga, and he arranged for this meeting. He also explained to her what kind of people were the contemporary Pirate Lords. They were mostly young adults. Jack was the oldest, at three hundred and eleven years old. The youngest was a mere fourteen. Jack assured her that the youngest was terribly bright.

Of course, Jack got more than an earful when she'd returned from the house with Jason and Otis, and she saw him. He snuck behind a chair, and started to carry the chair in front of him while he crept up the stairs. As if a moving chair could save him. She'd seen him, of course, and took off after him. His habit of staying in the place he'd been found (such as when Norrington gave his little shpeel about signing up with the crew back in the 1700's) had long since gone, and Jack knew to run.

_The man has no sense of creativity_, she thought as she tackled him down in the armory. So many rooms, and he choose the armory. Not caring, she had Jack Sparrow on the ground, one of her knees on his chest. Bending down, she cast a blazingly angry look.

"Do you realize how embarrassing this would be if one of yon guests were to poke their heads in?" Jack asked flippantly.

To hear him speak so casually when she'd been given the biggest shock of her life because of him seethed in her brain. Reeling her hand back, she let it go for a slap. He caught it before it hit, though.

"You don't want to be doin' that, love," he murmured.

In a quick second, Jack had traded spaces with Isabelle. It was she under his knee, now.

"Anything that transpired was for your own good, savvy? If you cannot accept that pirates use coercion to achieve the desired results, then mayhap you don't belong to the pirate world."

That was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back; the crack in the dam, the opening of the flood gates, and any other cheesy cliché used when someone's last grip of stoicism broke. Her eyes went glassy and she rolled away from Jack. Curling up in the fetal position, Isabelle began to bawl uncontrollably, feeling so utterly frustrated and helpless. Jack had no idea what to do with her. He stood there awkwardly, wondering if he should do something. Sighing with great dread, he knelt beside her and held her while she cried.

"Love, what's happened to you that you're all upset?" he asked softly.

"It-it's all over!" she cried. "The-the plane crashed and Dal...Dal...The pilot..." She had trouble breathing. "He died. I d-didn'-n't. Col-l-lapsed on la-an-nd..." It was hard to understand through all the sniffles. "W-woke up on the-the _D-Dutchman_. K-kissed Will T-turner...I'm s-s-so confused... Ch-chest is gone..." Everything else was unintelligible.

Jack said nothing as she finished crying.

Nothing she'd done mattered, anymore, she knew. She had no control over her life. Her life had been threatened twice this day, and instinctively, she knew they weren't the last times. She didn't belong in the pirate world, that much she knew. She had a choice when she was a teenager, of whether or not to believe such things.

By now, Isabelle had no choice, and she knew it as she stood up and went about her business without another word, leaving Jack on his own to his thoughts. It wasn't like she could return to being the quiet little traveling agent. Her plan to bring tourists wasn't going so well. She'd had to call someone to take over for her for the next couple days or so. She had said she didn't know how long she was going to take off. It looked like her plan of a nice, quiet future was going down the tubes in a hurry. The report of the plane crash made it even worse.

Telling Meriel Icarson that Dal had died, well, that was about as bad as anything ever could be. To see that strong woman disintegrate like that. Before Isabelle knew what she was doing, both she and Mrs. Icarson were sobbing in each other's arms on the ground.

But that was over. Sparrow Island received quite a bit of bad publicity because of the crash and the destruction of Isabelle's house. It had been terrible. Lucky for her, she had Jason and Otis.

Jason and Otis proved to be true gentlemen. They offered to help her set the house back in order and didn't prove to be fussy houseguests. In the following days, they dumped trash, set furniture right, swept, and mopped. Because they had refused to stay at the Bed and Breakfast, Isabelle was expecting trouble. Instead, the first day, they cleared out the living room and slept on the floor with their own blankets.

Isabelle's parents called her again. They wanted to visit as soon as possible because of the crash. Isabelle felt it, the distance that was gaining between her and her father. He would not be so close to her, again, because of the accident. Isabelle then realized how much she had really changed since Will had neglected to show up that night. She told them three to four weeks, and her house would be in guest condition, again.

With her house in such a wreck and plans being made for the other Pirate Lords' arrivals, Isabelle had very little time to think about Will Turner. Thank God, because she would have gone completely insane with thoughts of him. Not even coherent thoughts. She'd dreamt very vivid dreams about him almost every night for a week after she swam back to Sparrow Island. At random times, the memory of his kiss came unbidden to her, staggering whatever she might have been thinking at the time. It was madness. It didn't help that she was having nightmares when she didn't dream of him. One of her nightmares, she was sure, was what happened to her father that night she had thought he died.

The sea was cold and unforgiving. Was this his last moments on earth? How extremely fitting, he mused. Died out at sea, all because of an act of fate.

Fate. What a silly notion. He believed he had control over his life. Sure, he married into a superstitious family, but he was changing that, wasn't he? He laughed in his near death insanity over the ridiculous legends his wife believed. What was worse was that his daughter believed it. Pah!

Slowly, everything became black.

He blinked, and found himself standing on an old ship. There were men aboard this ship, and all were working, ignoring him. There was a man before him that he didn't know. From the look of him, Steven didn't like him. His hair was too long, his shirt too open. The scar across his chest almost _advertised_ that he had been in dangerous situations. Still, if this was the man who'd saved him, he wasn't going to complain.

"Welcome to the_ Dutchman_. I'm the Captain," the man said.

"I want to thank you for saving my life," he said, sticking out his hand.

The man looked at it. "Your life?" he questioned. "Sir, you're dead."

"Excuse me?" Thinking this was some sort of joke, he laughed. Then he saw the look in the man's eyes. They were completely serious. "Is that some sort of threat? I'll have you know, my family is very prominent—"

"This is no threat. You're dead, that's why you're on _The Flying Dutchman_. Look around you, sir. We're riding below the water," the man explained.

Steven did indeed look around him. A small fish flitted by his head before he screamed. It frightened him to know he didn't need to breathe. "I can't die! My family needs me!" he yelled. "Take me back!" Then it hit him, this was the Captain Will Turner her wife had been seeing. Anger came faster than wildfire. He flung his fist at Will Turner's face with a scream, "YOU!"

Will didn't have to try to block the punch. He caught the fist with ease. "Me? What's your name?" He had to grab the other fist as it came at him.

"It's Steven Mason, you devil! Trying to lead my wife astray! My daughter even thinks you're some sort of hero!"

With understanding, Will wrenched Steven's fists down and turned them inwards. "It is I who should be trying to hit you. Trying to sell my wife's house, are you? I can tell you are continuing the Turner curse, as well. Let me tell you, if you sell that house, I will guarantee you spend your eternity in the locker." His eyes shone with a scary glint.

Steven was cowed. His shoulders scrunched, his eyes widened, and he felt supremely scared of Will Turner, captain of _The Flying Dutchman_.

"You will get to return to your family. Treat them with more respect, and pray that your daughter ends the Turner curse. I've seen how four generations have wanted sons, but their girls wed men who treat them like their beliefs don't matter. It's all real, Mr. Mason. You'd best remember that." The last sentence was a hiss.

Flash. He was dumped back on the _U.S.S. Marincora_. And Isabelle woke up in the living room to Jack's voice.

"Yes, lass, this is where I told you to come," came from outside.

"It looks ridiculously dilapidated," a young female voice said in a disdainful attitude. It contained a light accent. Isabelle couldn't place it.

"So did you, when I found you," Jack replied. "Come on in."

Isabelle sat up and wrapped her frizzed hair in a ponytail quickly before the girl came in.

She must have been the fourteen-year-old Jack mentioned. She seemed rather like a miniature adult, or at least a child trying to be an adult. Her white-blonde hair was stick straight, her almond gray eyes heavily lined with gray-green kohl. Her halter top was pink, and she didn't fill it at all. Her jean shorts were cut-off mid-thigh, and her flip-flops were pink and blue striped. Her skin was meticulously tanned, and a small muscle in her nose twitched when she noticed Isabelle.

"Isabelle Mason?" the girl asked.

"Yes. Good morning," she replied, plastering on the welcome smile. "How are you?"

"Just fine, thanks. I'm Renée Trassè. It's a pleasure to meet you." This sounded so very rehearsed. Her nose was cute and pert, except for the slight tilt.

"The pleasure's all mine," she responded. Two could play at the over-formality game.

A twitch in Jack's eyebrows alerted Isabelle. Should they go outside and wait for more Successors? She asked him, and he nodded. Once outside, she ran a hand through the hair that had already fallen out of the ponytail.

"And _she's_ a Pirate Lord?" she asked Jack.

"Oh yeah," he said in an obvious sort of way. "Steals anything she comes across. Cheeky little blighter, too. Aye, she would've been in more than a spot of trouble back in my time."

A teenage boy approached them. "Captain Jack Sparrow?" he asked.

"Tha's me, lad."

"I'm Phillip Pinciatti." His dust colored hair was short and spiky. His eyes were tree bark brown, and his full lips seemed slightly upturned, even though he wasn't smiling. He wore a black hoodie and beige cargo pants. Isabelle thought he was nuts. It was summertime in the Caribbean.

"Right. Phillip, I remember you, now. You've grown up quite a bit in five years, lad. How old are you, now?" Jack asked.

He looked uncomfortable at the question. "Seventeen," he murmured. He scuffled his feet and avoided looking at Isabelle.

"I'm Isabelle Mason," she introduced, pitying the poor kid. He looked so painfully shy.

"Here come the rest, love," Jack warned. He pointed at a group of people coming this way.

A tanned woman with short black hair argued with an Asian man. A thin man followed them, eying them with quiet dislike. Another woman was beside him, a stocky, red-headed, young woman, who was off in her own little world.

"Those are the rest of the Pirate Lords?" Isabelle asked.

"Not until we establish they're pirates. Fine bunch, aren't they?"

* * *

**A/N**: Tell me what you think of the new characters so far. Not much color? Oh it'll get there, especially when each one is asked whether or not they're a pirate. We'll get to see who they really are. 

**An Unknown Writer**: Face it, it's gone. Will'll have to face it, too. It won't be pretty, that's for sure. The other Pirate Lords are right here. -smile-. Thanks for the review.

**Almenel-Miriel**: Almost impatient? I'm insulted! No, not really. You _liked_ that Jack slapped her? I was so worried that people would be like "He would never do that!" I had an argument all planned out, and here you come saying "I'm glad he slapped her!" Nice. Just nice. Yeah, there's no turning back now for Isabelle. There hasn't been for a long time, actually. Thank you for the review.

**Blue-buggy**: Well, she went to that place where dead people go. Hmm...it would actually be pretty interesting if ... -smile- Me gots an idea, now! Thanks much, matey. Thanks for reviewing! And for the idear. -evil smile-.

**TsukiMizu**: But Davy Jones can't step on land. Ever. Or...you'll find that out later. Yeah, Jones just shanghies people into service. This guy _eats_ souls! He did it to ensure her acceptance. He thought she'd be like Elizabeth, stubborn and all "I don't need men's help. Go away." When in fact, Isabelle would have been very glad for the protection, without the firearm in her face. Thank you for reviewing.

**Apocalypse cabaret**: I'm so excited you like it. Thanks for your review!

**Digisammiegirl**: Oh yeah, like _Isabelle's_ going to be able to do anything! Well, what do you think of the other Pirate Lords? Granted, you don't really see their characters too much because the last four just kind of showed up all clumped. You'll get to know them better next chapter, though. Thank you for the review!

**Dani-celebrindel**: Oh, the complications are coming. And it's gonna get really bad. Like, confusing. You'll see, it'll screw stuff up in the long run. Thanks for reviewing!

**Tala-baby**: Your review made me laugh out loud! It was so great. My favorite was "your prudent self" O man I was dying of laughter! Good one! But you see, Isabelle's first thought isn't action. It's talking, and not witty talking like Jack. Just talking. Perfect diplomat, but unfortunately, you can't debate civilly with a firearm in your face. -shrug- She tried though, the idiot. Thank you for your hilarious and entertaining review!

Pretty please, review?


	14. Insanity Is The Circus 'n Time Travel

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

* * *

Insanity Is…The Circus and Time Travel: 

When everyone was situated with their luggage and sitting in the front room, Isabelle turned once again to plead with Jack. He had explained everything to her: who the people were, what they were to be told, what they were _not_ to be told, who knew what, and so on and so forth. He didn't want to talk to them. He wanted Isabelle to do it. "Do I have to?"

Jack said nothing, and pretended not to hear.

Isabelle sighed and stood up, alerting the others. "Before we call this circus to session," she sent a pointed look at Jack who was pointedly examining the old painting on the wall, "there are some things we need to take care of, evidently. Have you all been informed of the Nine Pirate Lords?"

A series of assent rang around the room. Jack had explained the legends to them in the manner of a drunken story teller when he found where they lived. Then, through a series of totally unrelated events, the seven of them ended up on Sparrow Island around the same time. So Jack said, anyway.

"You are their Successors," she said. This caused several gasps and exclamations. "Now, before you become an actual Pirate Lord, the code says you need to be a pirate. Think about yourselves. Think about your personalities. Are you pirate? Do you act on selfish impulse more often then not? The sooner you answer, the faster I can tell you why you're here."

"Pirate," the Asian man proclaimed quickly, raising a roughened hand. His name was Ping Xao. His dark brown hair was long and in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His slanted eyes had few wrinkles as he was relatively young. His leg twitched continuously with unreleased energy. He got his Pirate Lordship handed down from the family of Mistress Ching of China.

Jason and Otis shared a brief look. Otis wasn't supposed to be in the room, as he wasn't a Pirate Lord Successor, but Jack had said he was allowed because he was Jason's fellow crewman. Apparently they made exceptions for them. Jason took a deep breath and admitted, "I, too, am a pirate." Jason received his Lordship from an ancestor who had been great friends with Sri Sumbhajee.

"Throughout all of seafaring history, pirates have been the bad guys," Renée said. "However, some of the richest men of that world became so by being pirates. I am most certainly like them. I am a pirate." It was strangely daunting to hear such a sentence from one so young. She was the youngest descendent of Capitaine Chevalle.

"They became rich by killing. Have you killed anyone, Miss Mason? Captain Sparrow?" the older man said in a rough, soft tone of voice. His name was Henry Dúme, and his brown hair was long, as though he'd neglected it for a very long time. He had to keep moving his bangs out of his eyes. He was the heir to Ammand the Corsair's title as Pirate Lord.

"Aye, I've killed. Killing the other person's the best part. It's the dying of said other person that wasn't so good," Jack responded in the usual dramatic way of his.

"Yet you haven't, Miss Mason? Are _you_ a pirate?" Dúme continued.

Isabelle's chin rose a little. "Just because I didn't take another human life doesn't mean I'm not a pirate, Mr. Dúme. I'm a pirate because I've come from a line of pirates, like most of you. I'm also in love with the sea. And, I'm completely obsessed with treasure." Satisfied with her answer, she turned the question back on him. "Are you a pirate, Mr. Dúme?"

"Can't we stop all this Miss and Mister business? We'll be having to deal a lot with each other from now on, and it would ring better to me ears if we all just went by first names," Jack requested.

Dúme waited a beat before continuing. "Yes, Isabelle. I'm a pirate, for lack of a stronger term. And call me Dúme. Nobody calls me by my first name."

So, Henry Dúme definitely scared her. The way he'd said her name was a challenge. He didn't like that she was taking charge. Wouldn't he get a surprise when he found out she was Pirate King?

"Well, this was my first view of the sea. It's magical so far, but I can't say I love it, yet. Though, at home, a lot of things went missing 'cause of me. I'm a pirate." This was said by Bonnie MacDougal, the red head. She was sitting on the couch with one leg draped over the arm of the couch, the other leg underneath herself, and her elbows rested on the knee of the leg beneath her. Her wavy hair was more a burnished orange than red, and it was thick and fuzzy. Her blue eyes stood out against the pale pink of her skin. Isabelle feared for her in the Caribbean sun. Her Lordship had come from Hector Barbossa.

"I'm a good person," the woman with short black hair said. She seemed very stiff and cold towards them all except Phillip. Her name was Monica Amoane, and she was Villanueva's heir. Her hair was short all the way around except for a side of bangs. That piece of hair was normally in her eye, unless she brushed it behind her ear, which she never did. Her skin was darker than all of theirs. Well, it was on par with Renée's, but Renée's tan was slightly orange.

"As is he," Isabelle said, nodding towards Jack.

"Ah, love, don't be so quick t'say that. Ruin me reputation, that will," Jack disagreed.

"But you're not a good person if you lie, or steal, or kill, or do any of those things. They're against the rules for a reason!" Monica shouted.

Anticipating this, Jack turned to her. "Lass," he started, "Is the man who steals jewelry from a store a bad man?"

"Of course."

"Now what if I were to tell you that the man was planning on selling the jewelry for more than it was worth. Still bad?"

She nodded.

"Right, he was stealing it for money because his wife's in the hospital, and they've refused her care because they've not got the money for payment. Is he in the wrong, now?"

"There are other, honorable ways to make money." She would not budge.

"So, for the purpose of our meeting, there are quite a few things we need to clear up for the betterment of society. If you have to lie, cheat, steal, or kill, you'll have nothing to do with it?" he asked.

Monica bit her lip and crossed her arms. It was true that she didn't know what exactly they were doing. Those actions were wrong in her mind, but what if she missed out on some sort of adventure? No, this wasn't a book or a movie. This cop-in-training wasn't naïve enough to assume this was fiction. "What sort of things need to be cleared up?"

"I agree. I won't make up my mind until I find out what I have to do," Phillip finally spoke up. He was the heir of Gentleman Jocard through a warped family history.

"We're to take back the heart of Davy Jones. Well, Will Turner, but we'll call him Davy Jones for now because _everyone_'s heard of Davy Jones. This will involve a _retrieving_ of sorts of an important woman, finding and—" Jack looked at Monica "— returning the thief to justice, if we're lucky. If the thief was in the service of some, I don't know, some other sort of person, we'd have to track down the other person, sail to some godforsaken jungle in the middle of South America, time travel, and probably stay there, savvy?"

"I'm out. Plain and simple. I refuse to kidnap anyone," said Monica. She started to make her way out. "Time travel? You're insane."

"I never asked if you were in or out. I believe the question was whether or not you're a pirate. Because if you are, you've got no choice but to help us. This woman, she's… not what you call honorable. Trust me, we'll be doing a service to her by … er… _kidnapping_ her. And my guess is that the second supposition isn't even a possibility, so I'm not insane really, just drunk. Besides, to be a pirate, all you really need to be is focused on achieving what you want. We all have our own codes of morality." He moved quickly in front of Isabelle's front door to block Monica's way out. "For the last time, are ye a pirate, or are ye not?"

Sighing, she fixed her thin lips into a scowl. Her eyes narrowed in anger as one of her hands twitched. "Let me through," she said softly. "I won't have anything to do with your _pirating_."

"Can't let you leave until you give me the answer to the question I asked." That was all Jack would say.

"Move, or I'll make you."

"No."

Her hand went into her pocket and pulled out a pocket knife. Flipping it open, she stabbed him in the side of his stomach. Ripping the knife out, she stared in horror as Jack simply stood there, his face scrunched in thought.

"Oh." Jack wiped the wound with his hand and then looked at his hand. There was blood on it. He nodded. "I don't think I deserved that. Ye've answered our question by that little display of aggression. You're not afraid to hurt people to get what you want. Aye, you've got your morals, as you've placed the wound where it wouldn't kill a man. Severely wound him, yes, but not kill him. Ye could've easily went for me throat."

She regained her wits. "Too right you are," she growled as she wiped off her knife with her tank top. "Remember that next time you try to make me do something." She refolded it and put it back in her pocket. She turned on her heel and went back to her spot on the floor. "You heard the man. I guess I'm a pirate."

"I'll be right back," Jack said quickly as he ran from the room, blood dripping on the floor. There was a couple of minutes of silence before anyone spoke up.

"How can he still run after that wound?" Phillip asked Isabelle.

Isabelle smiled. "Well, for a three hundred and eleven year old, he has the amazing power to bounce back after _anything_."

"He's _three hundred and eleven_?" he repeated in awe.

Isabelle nodded, amused by the boy's wonder.

"I'll be a pirate just so I can ask him how he's lived for so long!"

"That's easy, lad, and ye don't even _have_ to be a pirate for me to tell you," Jack replied as he came back down the stairs. Isabelle knew that all he had done was change his shirt, and in the time it took for him to change, the wound had closed. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. There's nothingI can't do." He smiled his wily grin.

* * *

**A/N**: Sorry about the wait. Chapter seventeen's a killer! 2,500 some words! MAN! 

**Apocalypse Cabaret**: Thanks for the review!

**Bluebuggy**: You shouldn't like that laugh. It's evil. - shrug- I don't think you're going to regret it. Nothing's going to happen to you! I really hope that you don't judge my story based on what happens. For me, pairings aren't really decided 'til the end, or at least, I don't _want_ you to know the pairings until the end. It would give away the ending, it would! Thanks for your review.

**Dani-celebrindel**: Well, I'm basing them off the original—slightly. The heritages and stuff make sense, but a few passed on their lord-dom to friends, who then passed it on to their descendents, so… yeah, it's a little convoluted! It's been far more than four generations. It was four generations ago the Turner family got cursed, but two hundred and seventy years would yield somewhere around eight or nine generations, probably more. Thanks for reviewing!

**DramaDork21**: You just rambled on my thought-process. Good for you! I'm so glad you're enjoying this. Yay! You like Isabelle! Imagining Jack running with the chair made me laugh so hard! Renée's not going to be that big of a problem. She's just different. Thank you so much for the huge review!

**Almenel-Miriel**: Here's what happens next! Thank you for the review!

**Felicity-jones**: Awesome that you comment, just don't die! Yeah, setting. I don't really care too much about it, and I should, you're right. Here, the Pirate Lords are explained. Thank you for your review!

**Tala-baby**: Yeah, action, I've discovered, doesn't like me, so it makes it so confusing that I need a couple chapters to set up before I can write three paragraphs of action. Not good. Will's alright, now, that's one of the reasons I waited so long to publish this! Thanks for reviewing!

**An Unknown Writer**: Who stole the chest? I can't tell you that, now can I? Here's the next chapter, and thank you for reviewing!

**lateBloomer04**: Everyone (mostly) will get someone in the end. I don't want to say what pairings, though, exactly, because, well, that'd give away the ending! And yes, all the Pirate Lords are explained, here. Thank you for the review!

**PearlSparrow13**: Aren't they, though? Isabelle's human. I didn't even realize I had her crying twice until I reread the chapter. Rum? What is this rum of which you speak? I'm a good kid, I don't drink rum! -hehehe- I'll take it, though. -smile-

Please review!


	15. Bound Her in Her Bones

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

* * *

Bound Her in Her Bones: 

"Order! Order!" Isabelle called. They had all taken a half hour break to let everything sink in. She was now calling them into her dining room, where a large table was set up. "The fifth Session of the Brethren Court will now proceed," she said. "We are here to bind the goddess, Calypso."

Otis paled. Only Jason noticed.

"What are you talking about?" Monica asked. "There are no such things as gods and goddesses."

"There are, though, young missy," Jack responded.

"Whether or not you believe is really not the point, Monica. Please cooperate, and you will see what I mean," Isabelle requested.

"Who made you in charge?" Dúme questioned. "Why should I listen to you?"

Isabelle refrained from doing something childish like sticking her tongue out at him. "Because I am the Pirate King."

"What!"

"No way!"

"I thought we all had to _vote_ for the Pirate King," Renée rang in.

Understanding, Jack nodded. He had planned on this happening. "You know, you're right. We ought to vote. Renée, cast your vote. Please say the whole name, even though it may be yourself," he said.

She sent him an odd look. Was he serious? "Renée Trassè," she voted.

"Cast your vote, Monica." Jack helped them along their first voting for the Pirate King.

"Monica Amoane."

"Next," Jack declared.

"Henry Dúme."

"Jason Alexander."

"Phillip Pinciatti."

"Ping Xao."

"Bonnie MacDougal."

"Isabelle Mason."

"Good," Jack commented. "I vote for Isabelle Mason, as well. Congratulations, Isabelle, you are now, _officially_, the Pirate King."

There were several outcries at this.

"How'd that work?" Renée asked. Several others restated the same question.

"Well, as a Pirate Lord, you usually have your best interests in mind. I told you everything that comes with being Pirate King before you got here, so, of course, you would vote for yourselves. It seems I have made a habit out of voting for this family, so why stop now?"

"He's got a point about the Pirate King business. There's no point in arguing any more," Ping added in. "However, I would like to state my complete sense of foolishness. Binding a goddess? I wasn't aware gods and goddesses existed."

"They do," Otis spoke up. "And they're some of most powerful beings on the planet." He paused to regain his composure. His face was still sheet white. "Why are we binding Calypso? What's going on that we need _her_ of all the other gods and goddesses of the sea?"

Isabelle nodded. "Well, for one, she broke her own rules. She made a promise to my ancestor that if his wife was faithful, they'd be able to spend eternity together. Six years ago, Calypso made my ancestor's wife pass on, while my ancestor lives, continuing to command _The Flying Dutchman_—"

"If you expect us to believe that, you've got some nerve," Monica interrupted. "_The Flying Dutchman _is a legend. Just like Calypso. And Calypso wasn't even a goddess, she was a sea nymph who liked lovers. They've got nothing to do with each other."

"I've seen it," Jason said quickly. He saw the look in Otis's eyes at Monica's comment about Calypso. He wasn't about to let his friend say something stupid. "I've seen _The Dutchman_. It's one of the most frightening ships on the ocean. I've heard it was crewed by the cruelest sailor ever to step foot on board a ship. He was stopped by a man named Will Turner, and he began to captain it. Simply because there's another captain makes it no less frightening. Yet that cruel former captain is back. He and another, who've made it their duty to prey on honest sailors."

"Drunken hallucinations. Sailors have also claimed to see mermaids," Monica negated sarcastically.

Jason shot her an angry look. "Neither I nor Otis drink on my ship. It was not a mirage; it was not a hallucination brought on by chemical means; it was _not_ my imagination. This ship is real, Monica. As is its crew. And if _it's _real, I'm afraid I'm going to have to believe in the existence of the goddess Calypso."

"And if you all don't believe us, we can attempt to bind her right now. Binding her will render her incapacitorally helping us whether she wants to or not. We'll all have to go outside, though. Follow ol' Jack." He got up and everyone made their way outside the back door, heading out to the beach.

"It's best to be near to the sea," Jack advised. He'd brought a bowl with him. There were matches and a small bottle of rum in his pockets that he would need. He gathered everyone in a circle and held out the bowl. "Nine pieces of eight are needed for this ritualistic procedure. Now, as pieces of eight are no longer the currency of the time, I'll only need a small item from each of you. Mine is this ring." He took off a blank band of black leather from his left ring finger. He passed the bowl around. Isabelle ran quickly in the house to get an item she thought would be good.

To Jack's left was Monica. She looked at the bowl in distaste. "Will we get our items back?" she asked. And sighed when Jack nodded. She took off the woven bracelet from her wrist. It was yellow, red, and green. She passed it to Dúme, who reached into his pocket and pulled out a rusted penny. Smirking, Dúme gave the bowl to Renée, who looked very lost. She didn't know what to put in there. She imitated Dúme by reaching into her pocket. In it she found a foil gum wrapper. Shrugging, she threw it in and passed it to Phil. Phil reached behind his ear and pulled out the pencil from behind it. Handing the bowl to Bonnie, who'd picked up a seagull feather from the ground, Phil eyed his pencil roll about in the bowl. Bonnie put in the white feather quickly and gave the bowl to Jason. Jason threw in the spare key to his boat. He handed the bowl to Ping, who threw in a lightening bolt keychain. Isabelle was the last to receive the bowl, and she put in a pair of yellow and green goggles.

"That's everyone? Good." Jack poured a little bit of rum into the bowl and took out his matches. "Now, I'm not sure if I'm going to do this right. Normally, a dear old friend named Mr. Gibbs knows these types of things, but sadly he refused to come with me on me immortality excursion, so he regrettably can't be here." He looked up at the sky and noted the clouds. "Aye, she'll be as mad as a cat when she gets here," he murmured to himself. "Everyone, this is going to be a bit of song, so if ye can't sing, simply chant. Do ye know all the words to_ Hoist the Colors_?" he asked.

Isabelle nodded, but the rest were clueless. Bethany had taught it to her early, along with _Yo Ho, A Pirate's Life for Me_, and _Fifteen Men on a Dead Man's Chest_. "It goes," she began, "The king and his men stole the queen from her bed, and bound her in her bones. The seas be ours, and by the powers, where we will, we'll roam. Yo ho, haul together. Hoist the colors high. Heave ho, thieves and beggars. Never shall we die." She went through it again, and they seemed to understand.

"Isabelle will come in at 'The seas be ours,' bit, and the rest of you join in when the mood strikes ye, savvy?" Jack explained. "We'll have to sing through it a couple times to get everyone in." He watched as they nodded, wondering why they were going along with this so easily. He didn't even have to trip them up in fancy words, they just nodded. "Calypso!" he called. "The nine Pirate Lords call you to our aid!"

A flash of lightening struck in the background, and a voice rang out. "What is it you want, Jack Sparrow?" It was deep and female. Isabelle instantly recognized the voice as Tia Dalma.

"We request your presence among us here," Jack said, holding a match. He took the bowl and hid it behind him as another lightening bolt struck in the center of their circle.

"I'm here. Now what is it 'dat you want?" she asked. Her dress was in tatters, her eyes flashing.

"Tia, darling," Jack coaxed as his hands behind his back worked the match. In the lowest and lover-sounding voice he could manage, he began, "The king and his men stole the queen from her bed and bound her in her bones." The bowl caught fire as he brought it out in front of him. Calypso stood, transfixed, and unable to get away.

Isabelle joined him as they both sang, "The seas be ours and by the pow'rs—"

Then Bonnie and Ping joined in, "—where we will, we'll roam."

Jason soon sang with them with his baritone, lilting voice. Hearing Jason, Phil became emboldened, and he tried to sing it. He gave up though, and simply chanted it. Renée contributed with her young, high voice. Monica and Dúme simply stared. They didn't want to do this. After two times through the song, Monica gave in, admitting the tune was catchy. Dúme glared at her, revolted that she would give way so easily, but finally added his chanting to the mix.

"Yo, ho, haul together. Hoist the colors high. Heave ho, thieves and beggars. Never shall we die!" The singing came to an eerie close.

"Now you'll have to help us," Jack commented like everything was fine.

But everything wasn't fine. Calypso was in the center of everyone, screaming with agony as her skin stuck to her bones. She caught fire and exploded in a little ball of flame. When the fire burnt out, a younger woman was lying in the middle of the circle, completely naked. She shuddered and lay there.

Isabelle and Jack rushed over to her, and everyone else was still in disbelief.

The girl looked nothing like Tia Dalma. Her skin was alabaster, her hair very long and pencil yellow. Isabelle grasped her shoulder and rolled her over to wake her up. But her pale green eyes were open and fierce.

"Do not touch me!" she screamed. She still sounded like Tia Dalma. "I can not believe that after every'ding I have done for you, Jack Sparrow, you bind me again! Urgh, I should have left you in 'de locker!"

"Tia, why do you look less like you and more like _not _you?" Jack asked, ignoring her yelling.

Still glaring at them all, she answered with, "My appearance depends on 'de pieces of eight in 'dis treachery. Mine hair? Him pencil," she pointed at Phil. "Mine eyes? Him penny," she pointed at Dúme. "Me skin is like 'da bird fea'der." She was still angry. "I trusted you, Jack Sparrow. And you, Isabelle Turner. I have granted you gifts beyond your wildest dreams, and you pay me back like 'dis?"

Isabelle had been prepared to help her. She didn't expect Calypso's anger. Then she remembered the chaotic things that transpired in her life because of this woman. "What gifts, Calypso? The longing for the murderous sea that took Dal? The Turner curse? The knowledge that my dream will never become a reality because of some stupid dead man you couldn't keep dead? Which one did you want me to thank you for? Oh, okay, I thank you for the monkey and the parrot; they're horribly entertaining." Her voice didn't turn sarcastic until she mentioned the undead animals. Her anger was then quickly suppressed, and she went back to being the observer. As though embarrassed by her tirade, Isabelle wrapped her arms around herself.

Calypso's bottom lip trembled. "I admit 'dat I have made mistakes. For six years I have been trying to take Davy Jones back to 'de locker, but him be too strong because of 'de horrid Nidhogg. And now you bind me so I can do no good. I will not help you."

"Nidhogg?" Bonnie repeated, recognizing the name. Half of her family hailed from Scandinavia a long time ago.

"Aye. 'Tis a beast 'dat feeds on 'de dead what die on land and deserve punishment. Him be too full of himself, now. Him want more power, so him eat live bodies' souls and possess 'dem to do him bidding. Him be lookin' for items of curious nature, a few require a sailor. 'Derefore, he brought Davy Jones out of 'de locker and commissioned him to work for Nidhogg. Him have your chest." She turned away.

"So Davy Jones broke into my house?" The idea was utterly appalling. Was Isabelle no longer safe on land?

"No, 'dat was a body Nidhogg possessed. Davy Jones cannot walk on land ever again." She looked convinced to stay out of it.

"Well, Calypso, I can see that you're entirely thrilled to be here, so let me tell you something," Jack interrupted. He'd been waiting the whole conversation to get this in. "You forget that while all us Pirate Lords are here, we can free you at our behest," he coaxed as he walked around her to face her. "If you assist us in this little problem that's actually really _your_ fault, we may consent to free you from your earthly baggage when this whole affair is over, aye?"

Calypso glared at Jack Sparrow, the insolent immortal she had come to adore during her freedom. She slowly nodded. She would help them.

The ten of them stood there, not even saying a word.

Isabelle thought quickly about Calypso's condition. Isabelle herself would be angry if someone captured her as an ant. Pitying the goddess now, Isabelle remembered her manners.

"Come with me, Calypso. I'll get you something to wear." The goddess was reluctant, but her hair, while long enough to cover some things, was very thin. Isabelle led her through the house, and Otis spotted them. He hadn't gone outside to watch the binding. He said he couldn't handle it.

It was hard to say the change that took place over Otis's face when he saw Calypso. It was a mix between confusion and hope. He wasn't quite sure if it was Calypso standing before him.

"Cally?" he asked upon her entering of the dining room.

"Odie?" She looked closely, and her eyes widened with unveiled joy. "Odie! I never 'dought 'dat I would see you, again!" She jumped into an embrace with him, ecstatic to find a friend among her captors. "I have missed you so much."

Otis smiled a small smile, understanding more than Calypso knew. "Go get clothes, Cally. We'll catch up later."

Isabelle gestured for Calypso to follow her up the stairs and into the room Isabelle kept her clothes in. Isabelle's clothes were a little short on the goddess, but Calypso didn't mind. Her Odie had found her.

* * *

**A/N**: Do you all realize why Calypso looks different? 

**AbbieNormal182**: That makes me feel so amazing, you don't even know. Isabelle agrees with you, she thinks she shouldn't have kissed him, either. I totally understand your view. Thank you so much for reviewing!

**Digisammiegirl**: Oh, it'll be a sight to see for sure! Thank you for your review.

**Crazy Hyper Lady**: Jack is the GREATEST! Yeah! Thanks for reviewing!

**Almenel-Miriel**: Whoa, whoa, there, tiger. They're not time traveling for awhile, yet. In fact, Isabelle is going to do everything in her power to _not_ time travel. She likes this time! Thank you for the review.

**Tala-baby**: Good point…I didn't even think of that. I just wanted a different kind of punk than Dúme. Because Dúme is a punk. Monica's just a more… outspoken, rough punk. Thanks for reviewing.

**An Unknown Writer**: I know about that mistake. I'm too lazy to fix it because I didn't make that mistake, fanfic did. Oh well. -shrug-. Thank you for reviewing!

**Domsbabe**: There's more coming up, trust me. There's just enough to make everything go all screwy. Thanks for the review!

**Felicity-jones**: You have no idea what I had to go through…like the official PotC website like 5 million times…and the cookies didn't save, so I had to click and watch the scenes… and oh man. It was torture. But I got it!! Go me! I'm glad you liked it. Thank you for reviewing!

Please review!


	16. Of Course Water's Wet

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

* * *

Of Course Water's Wet: 

With Calypso grudgingly content, Isabelle ran through the problems she and the other Pirate Lords had to fix. "So, we have to get rid of Nidhogg to take Davy Jones back to the locker?" she questioned Calypso.

"'Tis 'de only way Jones will go back, if him power be destroyed," was her answer.

"Where is he now? And why didn't he attack me when I was in the sea the other day?" Isabelle inquired. That question had been occupying her mind at any available moment.

"You said 'de first time him attacked you, him asked for 'de chest. Since 'de chest is gone, him have no reason to bo'der you."

"Will said something about my being in danger when I told him I had stayed up and waited for him that night he didn't show. Why was that?" Since this woman was supposed to know everything, might as well ask her for information, figured Isabelle.

"You did what?" Calypso turned sharply and looked at her. "'Dat's a bad 'ding you did, telling William Turner. Him got spies on him ship, reporting to Nidhogg about every'ding. Nidhogg will know you care. Him can use it against you."

Isabelle nodded, properly chastised. She looked to change subjects, but Calypso wasn't finished with her, yet.

"It was dangerous, too, because now Turner knows you care," she added.

"Why would that be dangerous? He's not going to kill me or anything?"

"No, 'de captain of 'de _Flying Dutchman_ is guilty about 'de death of him Elizabe'd, so he feel 'dat he can not love again. However, here comes you lookin' just like 'de late Missus Turner, tellin' him you care for him. It be dangerous for him heart."

It made sense to her, then, why he wanted her gone. He didn't want to fall in love, again. The slight thrill she received from knowing it was possible for him to love her was quickly dampened by the agony of knowing that he would not.

They were supposed to set sail for Nidhogg's lair under the Tree of Life. Several strange transactions had to occur before they left. Everyone needed passports, as most were American citizens, and Sparrow Island was a U.S. Commonwealth. They arranged it all and looked to leave on Jason's boat.

However, Jason's boat only held up to six with no luggage. Isabelle proposed the boat builder's down the street and asked if he had a long distance motorboat that could hold more than ten people.

The boat builder replied, "That ain't a boat, that's a yacht. And I happen to have one, but it's worth more than your life."

Renée's credit card stuck the merchant dumb. They walked out of his store with the title to the largest boat in the docks. That wasn't saying much, but it was saying something. Now all they needed was supplies.

When they finally left, their first port of call would be Tortuga, to find the parrot. The parrot knew where the Navigational Charts were, and they told how to get to Eden and the Tree of Life.

"Why can't you use your compass, Jack?" Isabelle asked, remembering the stories about the compass that didn't point north. She thought he still had it. Well, she hoped.

"Too far away, and there are many things I want. No, me poor compass wouldn't know which way to turn." He patted the pocket where the pocket lay, and that was all that was said about it.

As they hit all the local stores, Isabelle was devising a plan with Calypso. "So we'll reach Eden's waters and then…?"

"'Den I will cast a spell so you all can brea'de under 'de water. 'Dere are still o'der 'dings we need to get past. We will need 'de Dutchman to help us."

Isabelle breath caught in her throat. Not them, again. "Are you sure we can't do it on our own?" she asked in a weak little voice.

"Definitely not. Not wi'd Nidhogg havin' Davy Jones and 'de perils 'dat await us in Eden. It is said 'dat 'dere is an angel wi'd a flaming sword guarding 'de way. Will Turner and 'de Dutchman are 'de only ones who can stop it and allow us inside."

"Oh." She was not happy about having to see Will, again. It was a complicated emotion, whatever it was, and she attempted to puzzle it out, which only lead to more confusion, so _The heck with it! _she thought and thought no more about Will Turner than she absolutely needed to.

The crew prepared to cast off while Calypso and Isabelle stilled planned, and the packing and organizing for this trip shined the light on everyone's character. Jack just wanted everything done quickly so he could get back to his rum. However, he was a decent overseer for everyone, and good at keeping them on task.

Bonnie was truly enthusiastic to help, a little like a puppy. She'd pick up four or five large boxes at a time, only to drop one and laugh, and then continue hauling. Ping was equally as helpful, as he was behind Bonnie, picking up the packages she'd dropped. They laugh and joked as they worked.

Renée, however, was sitting on a lawn chair nursing a supposedly sprained ankle. She did very little other than complain and call Phil to go and get things for her. Phil did these things quietly and swiftly. Today, he wore a gray hoodie and black pants. His eyes were groggy from lack of sleep as Renée kept asking him to do things for her, like massage her back for hours, get her food, bring her drinks. He didn't seem to have a problem with it, though.

Monica was looking at world maps, figuring out the best place to go from Tortuga. She knew the general direction where the Tree of Life would be but the specifics wouldn't be clear until they got the Navigational Charts. Still, she was content to do the math of course plotting and budget planning. They'd have to stock up on fuel in Tortuga.

Otis, Dúme, and Jason were wiping down the boat with bleach. Their job was to clean out the boat before all the food and supplies went in. Jason and Otis had a system worked out for the inside, but both of them kept bumping into Dúme. Finally, they sent him to clean the outside of the boat, again. He was simply in the way.

Before noon, the _Pirate Wench_ was ready to sail. Her name was the invention of Dúme, who was tired of all the Pirate Lord and Pirate King shenanigans. Isabelle got the acute feeling that the boat was named after her.

They all met up at the boat at a quarter to noon. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Jason had spent the last half hour figuring out how the boat worked. By the time everything was loaded, he had a pretty good idea of how to drive it. He wouldn't call it sailing, mainly because there were no sails.

Isabelle's stomach felt particularly jittery. She didn't have breakfast, and she would refuse lunch. The boat's gentle rocking was unsettling her stomach. Her head was reeling with questions. Where were they headed? What were they going to do? She wondered as Jack boarded with a crate full of things from the armory. Jason started the engine when Jack was completely on board.

As Sparrow Island slowly became little more than a speck on the horizon, Isabelle stood against the railing, staring at her home. She had really only been away from it once, and that was the cruise to Tortuga. Now where was she to go and do?

"Wave bye-bye, love. There's a chance you may not ever see it, again," Jack said as he joined her.

"Nothing's going to be the same, now," she remarked sadly. "Everything's got to change."

"Aye. One thing you learn from being immortal," he responded, "is that no matter what boots you're wearing, water's always wet." And with that, he turned around to speak with Otis below deck.

* * *

**A/N**: Greatest line ever!!! A hint for Otis, in case you're all wondering. Say his first and last name very quickly and together-like. It should come to you. Hehehe! Thanks for reading! You should review. It makes me happy. Like this fine people: 

**AbbieNormal182**: Thank you so much for your review! I'm having trouble making them question…It's just not workin' out for me.

**An Unknown Writer**: Good job! I understood the song a little while after I saw the movie…and it clicked in my head the exact same way you typed it in the review! Thanks for reviewing! You'll find out how Otis and Calypso know each other. Just know that Otis is a bit more complicated than just the best friend and first mate of Jason.

**Almenel-Miriel**: Glad you liked the stuff they put in the bowl. I was so worried, trying to find stuff that made sense, because her coloring depended on the items, and I was like…well, what's white and yellow and hey! Copper rust is green! Dude!! I swear to you, that's how my mind worked…lol. So glad you liked it. Thank you for reviewing.

**Crazy Hyper Lady**: You're not blind! Figure out the hint! Thanks for the review!

**Bluebuggy**: Thank you for the review!

**Felicity-jones**: Oh yeah, the words to the song _were_ much easier to find. I don't have the soundtrack -tear-. One day. Thank you for reviewing!

**Tala-baby**: Calypso still exudes power, which is why Otis was able to identify her, because Lord knows she didn't look like that when he knew her! Davy will guess, but you're right, he won't be sure. That's going to work in everyone's favor when they come up against Nidhogg. Thank you so much for reviewing!

**Dani-celebrindel**: Just the nine pieces of eight. If you look at the ones in the movie, they're all very dark; black and dark brown being prominent colors. I took that and ran with it. It's also very helpful for tricking certain bad guys. See, Calypso's with us, but you can't tell because she doesn't look like the voodoo witch any more! -blows raspberry- My point exactly. Thank you for reviewing!

Please review! Please? I know you're reading this! I'm sure you've got questions. Or comments about how this chapter was really choppy. Go on, tell me, I'm not afraid to hear it.


	17. Didn't Miss What Wasn't Available

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

* * *

Don't Miss What Wasn't Available:

_Water's always wet, water's always wet_. _Of _course_ water's always wet._ _What did he mean by that?_ Isabelle pondered as she stared straight ahead of her. She sighed at the enigma that was Jack Sparrow. She'd actually gotten quite attached to him in the days he'd spent at her home. He always seemed to know the right thing to do. Okay, maybe not the right thing, but the most advantageous at the time. He was always good for a laugh, or two, or three. Okay, so he always made her laugh uproariously, even when he was beating her up to teach her to sword fight. It hit her then. _He really expects us to have to time travel_. Hadn't he said it himself? If the thief was working for some higher being, they'd have to go back in time. But _why_, she wondered. Why was going back in time the only option? What was so bad about Nidhogg and Davy Jones that they couldn't beat them in this day and age? Why go back to the swash-buckling days when 2003 had better guns?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a strange noise emitted from the pirate behind her.

"Nghha! Jason! JASON! Make this vessel go as fast as your machinery can make it! DO IT!" Jack shouted. He'd suddenly gone into captain mode, and was confused because besides Jason driving the boat, no one really had anything to be commanded to do.

"What's wrong, Jack?" Isabelle turned around and asked.

"Nothin'." He'd answered too quickly. He gripped his hand tightly with the other one. At Isabelle's staring, he hid his left hand behind his back.

"Jack, if something's wrong, we deserve to know."

Before he could give her an answer, the boat shook violently.

"Shallow ground, Jason!" Dúme called up.

"'Dat is no shallow ground," Calypso added as she joined everyone on deck. "'Dis be Davy Jones' new pet." She sent a pointed look at Jack. "The kraken."

"The kraken?" Isabelle asked. "I thought that was just a myth… Nothing more than a legend!"

"You didn't think it was real?" Dúme shouted. "Come on! We've bound a sea goddess, that man's three hundred and eleven years old, there's a giant ship ferrying the dead, and all this you know to be true, but you up and decided the part about the giant squid _couldn't_ possibly be real?" He threw up his hands in frustration. "_What_ that man was thinking when he made you King—"

What Jack had been thinking in Dúme's opinion was never really shared, as slimy tentacles started to worm its way up _The Pirate Wench_'s sides. Isabelle began quickly looking for ways of escape, but the boat came with one life raft, and that could only hold up to five. Jack ran down to get some guns out of the crate he'd packed from the armory.

The thing was _huge_, Isabelle thought, as the tentacles kept rising up. Its pinky flesh was suckling the air as though waiting to take their faces off. As if that weren't intimidating enough, its appendages kept crawling up towards the sky, allowing its mouth to come closer to the bottom of the ship.

"Just so's you all know," Jack said, sounding completely calm but looking quite the contrary as he came back up, "ickle beastie's probably big enough for its mouth to swallow the ship whole."

"Thanks, Jack," Isabelle retorted. "Toss me that gun," she requested. Jack did, and Isabelle sought to aim.

"Don't concentrate too hard, love. They be old guns; chances are they'll—"

Isabelle didn't think. She leaned over the rail to aim the gun down at the squid and fired quickly. There seemed to be a squeal as the shot hit its enormous side.

"—miss…" Jack trailed off. "Well, I suppose if you shot there, you really _can't_ miss," he rambled.

It only seemed to make the beast more angry.

A large ship emerged out of the water, frighteningly close to _The Pirate Wench_. "FIRE!" This voice triggered several explosions from the boat, and in a flash of fire, cannon balls hit the sea creature. Again and again the ship shot, and as the creature was busy being blown to bits, Isabelle studied the ship.

It didn't take her long to realize it was _The Flying Dutchman_. Some strange emotion gripped her heart like a hand and squeezed while her stomach did loop-the-loops.

"DRIVE!" the voice shouted, again. Jason couldn't hear over the ruckus, so Isabelle gestured for him to go.

"Are you sure?!" Jason asked.

"Just go!" Isabelle yelled back.

Jason nodded and gassed the boat. They sped off, away from the kraken, and Isabelle stared as _The Flying Dutchman_ blew up the kraken until it looked like pink-ish red Swiss cheese. They were now far enough away from _The_ _Dutchman_ that Isabelle's pulse began to decline back to normal rates. Of course, though, they had to converse. Why did she think she could get out of it?

"Are you all alright?" Will called out from _The Dutchman _as the two ships came close enough to touch.

"Just peachy!" Jack sent back with a cheery wave. He turned around and Will was right before him, suddenly on _The Pirate Wench_. "I told you," he said, sweeping a hand to show him while everyone gathered around. "Right as rain, we are."

Will's eyes were drawn to Calypso, for whatever form she was in, Will could feel her hold on him. His face grew angry. "Calypso," he growled and took a step forward with his sword raised high. Jack quickly rounded to block him.

"No, no, she's with me—us—them. We're all here to go find your chest."

The fear set in Will's eyes and he dropped his sword. "The chest is gone?" he repeated, finding Isabelle in the group.

_Oh, God,_ she couldn't look him in the eye. She stared at the ground instead. _Nice, safe place, the ground_. "Yes, someone broke into my house and tore it apart searching for it while I was gone."

Will's mouth moved silently, as though he were trying to speak, but couldn't. It was far worse than anyone could have imagined. He was doomed.

"Nidhogg stole it," Calypso informed. "We are headin' 'dere now. You can stay and help us, as Davy Jones is goin' to be mighty hateful 'dat his young pet be dead, or you can go back to your ship and continue on your way."

The air was tense with silence. Will's stoic face belied none of the terror and turmoil swirling behind it. His serious eyes bore into each and every one of the ten faces aboard _The Pirate Wench_. He snatched up his sword with a vengeance and the signal that he had made his decision. "You're all to come aboard _The Dutchman_. Now," he commanded. "I will send this ship back to your docks. Come."

Everybody simply stared until Jack told them to come across. Isabelle marveled at the size of _The Dutchman_. She'd heard tales of the ship being barnacle encrusted and decrepit. Now, it was simply a grand ship with the strange formal air that death brought.

Isabelle, Jack, Jason, and the rest moved quickly from one boat to the other. Renée threw death glares, hardly daring to believe that the boat her credit card bought wasn't good enough.

Isabelle could've sunk from the weight of guilt. _If only_, she kept repeating to herself. She'd let Will down. She'd disappointed him. She thought she must have been the first one to break his trust._ Lord knows his precious Elizabeth never made any mistakes_. She wanted so badly to go up to Will and apologize. From the look of him, though, that might not have been the best option. His commands were snappish to his crew, and then he went into his cabin and slammed the door.

The men continued to pull ropes and hoist sails, and whatever else sailors do during the daytime. A few of them turned to look for a quick second, but they went back to work without further ado.

"Did you think you were going to survive the fish?" Bonnie asked Ping.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't have enough time to process the fact that we were in mortal peril." He laughed a little to himself. Before long, though, his leg started twitching, again. "Is there anything I can do to keep myself occupied? I'm half-tempted to start jogging around the ship."

"Well, I've got cards," Bonnie offered as she pulled them out of her obnoxiously colored purse.

Ping nodded with approval. "Speed?"

The two had bonded almost immediately after they met. When Ping saw three people headed the same way he was, he decided to follow them. From there, he began to talk to the strange girl with red hair. His attention span didn't last very long, but the animated way she talked kept him interested.

Bonnie had to admit that Ping made her laugh. He was always looking for something to do, something to keep him busy. As she dealt out the cards, she remembered the first words he'd said to her.

"So, where're we all going?" he'd asked.

"I'm going to check out that really old-looking house by the beach. I love antique-y stuff!"

He'd smiled, and the conversation had taken off from there.

The two played the quick card game numerous times before Ping got tired of it. He then came up with a new game.

"What parts of the world have you seen?" Monica asked Dúme.

He shrugged. "Most of it. I've been going to the Vatican in Italy a lot lately." His eyes darkened with some negative emotion.

"Have you? Any particular reason?" she questioned, curious about his exploits.

Dúme shook his head. "Religion has spawned some of the biggest hypocrites and criminals in the world. Through research, I'm trying to find a reason it's unconstitutional by our laws, so I could probably get the whole of religion banned."

"Banned? You want to ban religion. I mean, that's one of our main freedoms," she disagreed.

"I knew you'd think that. Most people think that. What they don't understand is that religion's main goal is to convert everyone, for everyone else's own good, or so they say. Therefore, one of their religions' precepts is to make others believe them, which is imposing upon my freedom of religion. I just need a better argument…" He trailed off in his thoughts.

Her eyes glistened with respect. "That takes guts. Straight up guts, man," she commented. "Nothing like training to be a cop."

"How's that going?"

"Eh, crappy. When I ask someone why it's going so badly, they reply, 'To prepare you for the force.' Before this I was actually thinking of quitting." She shrugged. "I don't know. Now that I know more about this pirate stuff, it seems like maybe we _are_ here to do the right thing. I don't know about you, but I do _not _like the look of that Calypso woman. Especially the first time, man, can you say voodoo?" Her voice dropped to a whisper as she shuddered.

Renée propped herself on the thick railing of the old ship and dangled her legs on the inside. She watched while everyone else had a job to do. She caught a glimpse of her own hair and pulled it in front of her eyes. The white-blonde pleased her so much. That was the first thing she asked for when she was finally returned to her father.

"What's your natural hair color?" Phil inquired.

"It was dull brown. I didn't like it very much." Renée fiddled with the small strands to make the hair in her hands glimmer in the sunlight. The refraction shone white and pale yellow. She stopped and looked at Phil, questions in her eyes. "Where are you from?"

Phil shrugged. "I don't really know. My mom and I live in Booneville, Missouri right now, but I wasn't born there. We don't talk about that much." He wasn't hiding anything, he honestly didn't know. "How about you?"

"Well, my father told me we were French, but I know for certain our accent isn't French, it's much prettier." She ran her hands through her hair to fix it in the right spot. "He said we just bought a castle in England, so as soon as this whole thing is over, I'll go and look at it."

"You mean you haven't seen it, yet?"

"I hadn't seen my parents in years. I was kidnapped when I was six and sent to live on the streets for a time. I was thirteen before Captain Sparrow found me and took me to my parents. A year now, they've been pampering me."

"I never would have guessed you'd been kidnapped."

A dark look shadowed her gray eyes, and the subject was changed.

The captain's quarters loomed in the middle of the deck. Isabelle had spent enough time staring at the water and decided to go apologize to Will. Why did the length suddenly seem to take forever to cross? When she grasped the door knob to the room, she took a deep breath like she was about to dive off a cliff.

"Will?" she warned as she opened the door. When she didn't hear an answer, she stepped inside the dark room that was the captain's quarters. It was large and without windows. All the way in the back was a pipe-organ, dusty and gross from lack of use. Isabelle turned to the right to see Will throwing a knife into the table in front of him. He picked it up from where it landed, and threw it again.

"Look, I'm sorry about the chest," Isabelle said quietly.

Will didn't even turn to look at her. "It's not your fault. If you'd have been home, you would've been killed." He whipped his knife into the table, again.

"I might've taken it with me, and I'm sorry I didn't think of that when I left."

"No. It's fine. I forgive you." Now he looked at her, despair and sadness in his eyes.

"Why were you so mad at Calypso?"

"She's done so much. The worst thing she's done, by far, was lock Elizabeth up in the locker."

"What? I thought you controlled that?"

"So did I. When I was going to let her pass into eternity, Calypso paid us another visit. Elizabeth was to go to the locker because she was a pirate. No honor amongst pirates."

"Will, I had no idea."

"That's why I didn't go home that night. I didn't care if someone stole the chest. I didn't care if someone killed me."

"I'm so sorry." She hugged him. It was an awkward hug because he was still sitting in the chair, but she managed it. "Why would Calypso do that to you? Why did she put a curse on our family? Why?"

"I don't know. All I know is that Calypso is manipulative. She does whatever she can to get what she wants out of people. Just like Jack."

"Jack? Jack isn't manipulative. He's been nothing but helpful since he woke up on my couch from the hangover."

"But what is it that you have that he wants? See, Jack doesn't outright ask for things, he worms his way around whatever it may be he's after, and after a complicated adventure, he gets it. It's a sort of rule with him, that things have to be complicated."

"I don't have anything that he could want. Besides, I heard pirates don't follow rules. They're more like guidelines."

There. The flash of a chuckle. She'd done it! He smiled! She sat down in the chair next to him. "Tell me about life in the seventeen hundreds."

He took a deep breath and shifted in his seat. "Well, there was almost nothing that you lot have now. We got around by horse, sailboat, or carriage, not to mention walking. There were no cars, no television. We didn't even have electricity."

"No electricity, huh? I wouldn't have made it through." She laughed lightly.

He, however, was somber as ever. "We didn't miss what we didn't know existed."

As that telltale uncomfortable silence pervaded between them once again, Isabelle felt that sentence had a strange double meaning. She looked up into his eyes and saw the look she'd seen the last time she was on _The Dutchman_. She wasn't stupid! She looked away. "I'm sorry about the chest. I'm sure we'll find it soon," she murmured.

"It's not the chest I'm worried about," he said as he leaned in.

This kiss was different from the first one. He planted light pressure on her lips. Isabelle stood up suddenly. "Will, I—"

"Land ho!" one of the men screamed from the main deck. They'd arrived in Tortuga.

* * *

A/N: Review!!

**Tala-baby**: Thank you! That is totally the greatest line ever! YES! You ought to slap her with a fish. I'd laugh hysterically. Aw, you were kidding? Darn! It made me laugh so hard! -smile- Thank you for your review.

**AbbieNormal182**: Glad you enjoyed the chapter. Thanks for your review.

**Almenel-Miriel**: Think about the water's always wet thing metaphorically…it works!!! I was so excited when I thought of that. I was like "He needs something ridiculous to say that makes complete and utter sense if you think about it long enough…" And then it came to me!! Here's the next update! W00t! Thanks for the review.

**Blue-buggy**: I'm so relieved you like how I write Calypso. It's so hard!!! -sobs- She doesn't follow any sort of pattern except that she can't pronounce 'th's. Other than that, it's all guesswork! I'd like to know what you think is going to happen. I won't tell you whether or not it's right (unless you've guessed so completely correctly that I just have to yell at you for reading my mind), but you should tell me. I'm curious. Thank you for reviewing!

**PearlSparrow13**: Yes, ma'am. You are correct! Ten points to Pearl Sparrow for being the first to guess it correctly! Yeah! Thanks for reviewing!

**Vicster's Jar of Dirt**: I forgive you. Aw, your brain shouldn't explode! I'd cry. That's so awesome that you said the sea's wet. I love it. Thank you for your review!

**Mystical Beckie**: I see. Indeed-y, you are correct, madam! Though you do not state your opinion on the story, I appreciate your contribution to my reviews.

**Digisammigurl**: Thank you so much for reviewing. I reviewed your story!! I did!!! But fanfic was stupid and screwed it up and it was a long review and I didn't want to try again and… okay, enough with the excuses. Here I go review your story!

**Orlisgirl**: I'm so sorry…I looked back at my chapters and it looked like I didn't respond to your first review! -tear- Thank you so much for reviewing that time and this time. I really appreciate it. There was no confusion…only my mind choosing to be difficult. I'm glad you like Will/Isabelle… That's cool. I just don't want my story labeled with one pairing, you know? Especially because the pairing would ruin the ending. Thanks, again, for reviewing!

**Crazy Hyper Lady**: Don't die!! It'll be fine!! There's a humungous whopping hint coming up next chapter, so relax. It's okay. Thank you for reviewing. Just don't die.

**Br0k3nglasssyndr0me**: You randomly picked chapter thirteen to review? I like randomness. I hope you kept reading! You're welcome and I'm glad you love it. Here's another chapter for you!

PLEASE Review! Pretty please? -puppy dog eyes-


	18. Never Give Up, Never Surrender

**The Heir to the Pirate King  
**

* * *

Never Give Up, Never Surrender:

"Now that we're here, there be a few rules we have to follow," Jack started. Only he, Isabelle, Monica, and Dúme came in the longboat. "Get only what you need and stock up plenty. Be quick about it," he finished as they pulled up to a dock.

"Welcome to Tortuga," said a man at the docks. "Parking your—" He glanced at the decrepit, unused longboat Will had given them. "—boat will be a small fee."

The look in Jack's eyes sparkled. After paying the price, the four of them walked away from the docks, Jack grabbing a handful of change from the tip jar. They walked merrily into the now tourist town of Tortuga.

"It never used to be this way," Jack explained to Monica. "Tortuga used to be a great old town. Big, loud, fun. There was never a dull moment in the sweet proliferous bouquet that was Tortuga. Had been Tortuga, I should say." Nostalgia laced his voice.

They split up at the shops. Jack knew his way around this town better than he knew his own name. Wait, who was he, again?

Turning a corner, he caught a glimpse of a flurry of bright colors.

"Oi!" he called. He looked. There, there was the bird. In his talons were the navigational charts Jack had entrusted to him all those years ago.

"Give me the charts," he requested, holding out his hand.

"Squawk! Courage and fortitude in face of adversity and almost certain death!"

"Right, right. That'll all end now if you just give me the charts."

"Never give up! Squawk! Never surrender!"

Jack sighed and advanced to take the charts. The bird squawked again and jumped out of his reach, away from the Jack.

"You were saving them for me!" Jack roared, sending the parrot into the air. Getting very frustrated, he pulled out his pistol and fired.

"SQUAWK!" The bird dropped the charts and faltered in flight.

Jack picked up the charts and examined them. "Thanks very much, plucky."

"Man down! Man down! Squawk!"

The three others had found a general store and stocked up on nonperishable finger food which their team would need. Will's crew might've not needed to eat, but the nine Pirate Lords, Calypso and Otis were all alive, and therefore, needed to eat. Between much fighting amongst themselves, they finally managed to make it to the checkout counter. They exited the store, each person carrying their share. They met up with Jack and were not surprised he'd gotten a hold of the charts.

"We ready? Very good."

They floated back to the Dutchman, the longboat definitively heavier than it had been on the way there.

"Did we have fun?" Jack questioned.

The hostile glares between Monica and Dúme had Isabelle responding with, "You could say that."

When they returned from their jaunt, they were met by a harrowing sight aboard the Dutchman.

"This be my ship, boy!" the menacing voice of Davy Jones rang out.

"Give it up, Jones!" came a call from the crew.

"The Dutchman hasn't belonged to you for almost three centuries," Will replied, his sword drawn high.

Jones laughed and raised his sword to Will.

"You can't kill me, Jones."

"And I can't be alive!"

Jack paled at the sight of the sword. It was a large sword, nothing like the broadswords or cutlasses they used to use in his days. No, this sword was older than that, and made for something else besides fighting on boats. Its shape was simple and streamlined. There was no curve to it, and it shined like the day it was forged.

"No, no!" he shouted, rushing up to them. He means you _shouldn't_ kill him, Mr. Jones, sir," he said quickly. "Let us sit down, shall we, and talk this over, aye?"

Jones held the sword to Jack's throat. Jack squirmed, feeling the sword burn his skin. He spotted then the jewel in the hilt. Inlaid in the bauble was a Greek hero, styled much like their ancient paintings. It was, indeed, the sword of myth.

"I'm through talking." Jones' eyes squinted, and he pulled his sword away from Jack and hauled it at Will. The sparring had begun.

"No one get in on this," Jack warned. "That sword will kill you, be you alive, undead, immortal, or god."

Isabelle had just come up from the longboat, and finally understood what was going on. "How?" she asked as she approached the staring Jack.

"That sword was forged for Odysseus himself. Zeus didn't like where Odysseus ended up while on the Odyssey, so Hermes delivered him a sword that could kill pretty much anything. I haven't the foggiest how jolly ol' Jones got a hold of it." Jack took a quick look around the crowd that was gathering around Will and Jones. "Hmmm…" he mused. "We seem to be missing Otis and Calypso."

Isabelle couldn't begin to fathom his meaning. She stared intently at the fight, wondering how in the world she could help. She watched as the parries and blows took the two men away from the captain's quarters. Struck with an idea, she spirited away inside the room, looking for anything; a shield, anything. She turned to face toward the door and on the wall beside the door, she was faced with a life-sized portrait of a family.

There was a woman sitting between two boys, one decidedly older than the other. Isabelle jumped when she noticed the woman. _This woman_, she thought, _she's got my face!_ Dumbfounded by this revelation, Isabelle was painfully reminded of her purpose. Beneath this painting was an assortment of different items. Brushes, fans, shawls, and hair things lay in disarray. Thinking quickly as the crowd was getting louder, she closed her eyes and grabbed a random object and went outside.

The swiping and blocking became much faster and more frenzied as Will fought off the forceful blows from Jones. Isabelle looked at the random item she had grabbed. A fan. _Hm_. She thought about it, and came up with a solution, a very daring, and tricky solution. She'd have to time it just right, as the wrong kind of blow from Davy Jones could mean the end. So far, Jones hadn't noticed her. That would work to her advantage. Maybe he'd think she was Elizabeth. _That would be really good._

"WILL!" she screamed, hoping to God that Will knew enough to ignore her.

As expected, Jones whirled around, startled by the voice. "You!" he growled. "You're supposed to be dead!" He came at her, sword straight out.

Isabelle caught the sword in the fan and twisted it, wrenching the sword out of Jones' hands. It fell to the ground with a heavy clang, and Jack scavenged it up. He, now, held the sword to Jones' throat.

"Go tell dear Niddy we're coming, savvy?"

With that, Jones jumped overboard.

"Well, that was fun," Jack commented brightly.

Isabelle was still staring at the fan. It was ruined. Would Will be mad?

"Why did you do that?" Will asked. "You might have been killed."

"I couldn't just stand there and watch while Davy Jones tried to kill you."

The rest of the crew began to disperse while they talked. Will nodded, a solemn gesture of his gratitude.

"What will you do with that sword?" Monica asked Jack.

"This old thing?" he motioned, testing out the sword by balancing its weight and practicing a few jibes and swipes. "I suppose I'll keep it. It's a fine weapon. Might save our lives," he explained with sudden meaning, admiring the sword.

"Yes, it is a great and mighty sword, typical of a very long time ago. They used these swords in war, and usually only in war. It's got an almost superfluous weight, and its balance doesn't look quite right," Will rattled off. Years as a captain had rusted his knowledge as a blacksmith, but he could still tell a sword's stats by eying it.

"It is a tad heavy." Jack shrugged and continued his experimentation of the sword. He added footwork, almost dancing the balls of his feet, jumping to and fro.

"He kind of looks like a little kid playing pretend," Monica commented lightly.

This comment was made even more entertaining when Isabelle could see the movement of his lips. They were forming sentences like "Are you talkin' to me?" and "Come get it!" When he smiled after a particularly flourishing jab, she and Monica couldn't help themselves. They burst out laughing.

Jack straightened up immediately to see the two women laughing at him. "What?" he asked innocently, shouldering the sword. When he got no answer, he simply walked away.

Below deck, hidden away from the rest of the world, Otis tried to confront Calypso about what had happened throughout time. His brown eyes locked on her, unable to say everything on his mind.

"Odie," Calypso muttered, running a steadying hand through his hair.

He took a deep breath and started, "Cally, I heard about Davy Jones."

Calypso sighed and nodded.

"And Homer, Lee, Shelvocke, Sinbad, and all the others before me, and after me," he finished.

With each name, Calypso's eyes grew bigger, her expression more frightened. "'Dat is how I am. I didn't know you before. 'Den, I 'dought you died," she explained. Her face pleaded for understanding.

"I also heard about the ones during me."

Calypso hung her head. She couldn't deny it. "It's in me nature." She came closer to him. "Would ye love me if I be any different?" she whispered.

Otis' breath hitched. She could always make him do that. Smiling, Calypso ran a hand up his side, resting it on the back of his neck. With a practiced skill, she began to knead his neck until his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

"You see, I still know you, Odysseus," she said softly, teasingly. She hovered for undying seconds before his lips, waiting for his snap of control. So far, he'd kept his hands to himself. Now, she could see it, his restraint cracking. "Has 'dere been no one for you? Not since your lively wife has passed?" She laughed as her hands moved from his neck to his back, working the seasoned sailing muscles.

"You don't want to do this," he said, his voice husky and rough.

"Oh, I really 'dink I do." The smile on her new face was young and innocent. She blinked her pale green eyes, waiting for his move.

There it went. His control. His hot mouth covered hers in an eternity of hunger, a forever of wanting. They had reached this understanding; long gone had flown the point of no return.

* * *

**A/N**: Sorry for the long wait. I am no longer ahead…I don't know if I'll be posting as soon as the chapters appear on the computer or what…I don't know. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! 

**AbbieNormal182**: Thank you for your review. It was very strange coming up with seven different people…I matched them up with elements to make it work. That'll be important later, I guess. I'm glad I'm getting the canon characters right. That's about the hardest thing of this.

**Mystical beckie**: That's okay that you forgot, lol. Thank you for the review!

**Tala-baby**: Once again, your review had me cracking up! Thanks so much for the review, and for making me laugh. I needed it. -smile-.

**Wickedwitchofthemidwest**: That's okay, we're all a little bit crazy. I'm glad you've been reading, if that's any consolation. Redundancy doesn't bother me. Praise is good. Redundancy doesn't bother me. I want the soundtrack!! Thank you for reviewing!

**Blue-buggy**: Awwwwww, come on! I'm the author! I'm the one who should be keeping secrets from _you_, not the other way around! -cries- Thanks for reviewing.

**Dani-celebrindel**: I'm so glad you like my type of romance. That's my favorite, too. Partly because life is like that. You don't meet someone and say, "We're going to be together for the rest of our lives," and then it happens like that. That just doesn't happen. There's always intrigue, second-guessing each other, hesitation, confusion…Thank you for your review.

**Vicster's Jar of Dirt**: Yeah, it made me sad that Jones was ordered to kill his pet. Because it's his pet, you know? Even though it killed people, a pet's a pet, and I'd cry if I had to kill my cat. But then ice isn't water, now, is it? H2O is water, water vapor, and ice. Water is simply the liquid form of ice. Lol, I tried to defend myself and Jack's reasoning. Did it work? Thanks for the review.

**Almenel-Miriel**: No one's traveled anywhere in time, yet. Jones simply got a new kraken, that's why Calypso said it was his young pet. Yeah, Isabelle had no idea. She still doesn't believe Will. But in the end, she will. Oh yes. Jack is one crazy character. This time, he's willing to do _anything_ to get what he wants. But what is it that he wants? Thank you for reviewing!

**An Unknown Writer**: 1) I'm so glad you did. I love that line, as well. Greatest line ever, savvy? 2) Yes, I did get the idea of the knife throwing thing from the movies. Good to know I can count on you to make connections like that. 3) I agree with you…remember, Will's all "I miss Elizabeth and here's someone who looks just like her." He hasn't had much of a chance to see she's really not like Elizabeth, except for random spurts of courage…and those can't be depended on to be there in times of danger (with Isabelle. I'm sure Elizabeth was courageous most of the time). Thanks for reviewing!

**DramaDork21**: Yay! You found a character to identify with! That makes me happy. I think you would've gotten who Otis was after this chapter. I'm glad you can see everything so well. I've been able to envision everything so far, down to the weather and the type of clothes Jack wears in this modern era (because he can't walk around like he had been back in the eighteenth century, he'd get stared at)…I so want this to be a movie. Everything would be so amazing. Thank you so much for your awesome reviews. I love that they're so long!! It gives me a chance to talk to you more.

Please review!


	19. Intermission

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

Intermission:

Will was standing behind the steering wheel, holding a conversation with his father, when Jack resounded, "AH HA!" He bounded up the steps to Will in triumph.

"We have our exact heading, mate!" he roared. The dreadlocked pirate clapped Will on the shoulder. He pointed northeast. "Exactly in that direction lay fated Eden, sunk in God's almighty wrath. If you believe such things, o' course."

Will's supernatural line of horizon clouded. The sea had claimed lives. "Oh no," he muttered, aware of the living on his boat. "Jack! Can you breathe under water?"

"Not for very long. Why?" He never got a response as the ship capsized under water quickly. Will grabbed Jack's shirt to keep him on the ship as they spun around, again. Right side up and still completely submerged in water, the _Dutchman_ set off, drawn to death.

Isabelle opened another door below deck, hoping to find Calypso. There were so many things about…about… well, about everything that Isabelle simply didn't understand. What kind of magic could Calypso do? How had she known Otis? Where did the mythical sword come to be in the possession of Davy Jones? All these questions swirled around in her head while she searched for the goddess.

She stood in the center of the sleeping quarters, staring blankly at the hammocks, too many thoughts in her head, when the ship capsized. The speed of the move had Isabelle's head bouncing off the ceiling. The quarters were then filled with water, an unconscious Isabelle floating listlessly on the rising tide.

Ping had started to put away the playing cards. They'd been playing his new game for days. Between talking and playing (Bonnie won an amazing amount of games, even with Ping's changing of the rules. "Just luck," she'd said), the two were truly comfortable with each other. So when the ship went upside down, they trusted each other.

Grabbing the closest thing attached to the ship, a rope, Ping held on and made a grab for Bonnie, who was sinking downwards. Swiftly tying the rope to his waist, Ping kicked off from the deck to get her. Bonnie struggled against the weight of her clothes and the lack of air in her lungs. Ping grabbed her around the waist as the ship righted itself under water. They couldn't breathe, but neither of them would be lost to the crushing black oblivion below.

Phil thought of the words to say to his mother in the letter he was writing. He wondered how much he could tell her. He looked up from his paper and noticed Renée asleep in the hammock before him. She seemed peaceful enough, but as he kept watching, her eyes fluttered beneath the lids and she began curling up into a ball. Worried, he leaned in closer. He could hear a faint, "No… no… please. Please." She began rocking back and forth in her sleep. Wrapping his arms around her, he began to comfort her in silence.

When the ship flipped, his back hit the ceiling, and Renée was cushioned by him. She screamed in his ear, and Phil gave a soft grunt of pain. With confusion, they watched the water fill into the room they inhabited.

"Do you know what's going on?" Renée asked.

"Not a clue. Let's not open that door," Phil replied. They continued to hold onto each other, wondering what was happening.

"I'm not unpatriotic," Dúme insisted.

"Bull," retorted Monica. "That's why you're so against everything we believe in."

"No, I believe consumerism in a noxious disease caused by Capitalism to make the rich richer and the poor poorer. Our rights, so to speak, are nothing but hogwash, because big business can quiet us, religion can convert us, police can stop our burning the flags–"

"Exactly. You're against Capitalism. There's only one other alternative. Your disbelief in what America's based off of makes you unpatriotic."

Dúme stared at her, straight on, daring to hold the eye contact. "I don't dislike the country. I dislike its rulers, its policies, its military, its history, and its doublespeak. Other than that, it's a great country."

Rolling her eyes, Monica scoffed at the man before her. Was he really so tough? She didn't think so. He was just turning into a royal pain in the–.

The ship's unexpected reversal caught them both off guard. They plunged into the water, being above deck. Monica grabbed the railing, quick reflexes kicking in. Dúme wasn't so talented. Letting her compassionate and protective side guide her, Monica grabbed Dúme by the scruff of his shirt and pulled him back onto the boat as it righted itself. Their panicked gazes locked and both thought the same thing. _What was going on?_

Calypso smiled a satisfied cat's grin as she played with Otis' hair. "Tell me of your ventures," she asked, cuddling closer. The two had set up a hammock in the empty brig, knowing no one would be able to find them there.

Otis shifted a little. "Where do you want me to start?" he asked.

"After you left me." She giggled.

"Well, you remember I traded you the sword for my freedom. I set sail with Hermes. You remember him, don't you? Little, hyper fellow? Well, he helped me get back to my wife, who had suitors banging down her door…" As he relayed the legend of Odysseus, his mind thought beneath the words. Calypso wouldn't change for anyone. How could he expect her to change just for him? It had been a long time since he'd loved. Modern women were just different. Their crass and blatant use of their sexuality to get what they wanted befuddled him. Sure, there had been Lysistrata and that scandal, but the women involved were married and still managed to maintain their dignity.

"I found immortality with –" He couldn't finish the sentence, as he and Calypso found themselves flipped over on the ceiling. "What's happening?" he asked.

Calypso grew anxious. "The sea has taken lives. Turner will have to ferry 'dem. 'Da Pirate Lords can not brea'de under 'de water."

She stopped talking and raised her bare arms in request. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as a strange language came fluently to her lips. Slowly, oh so slowly, a blue light glimmered from her finger tips. It then shot out into different directions. The Pirate Lords and Otis found themselves coated in the calming coolness of air. All of them relaxed as their first breath under water filled their lungs. As one, they raced above deck to see the sights. Except Isabelle.

Past the silky threads of blue and white spun from the ruddy sun and tangled in the tides, the _Dutchman_ flew to the poor lost souls unfortunate enough to have lost their lives at sea. The natural movement of the waves slowly shifted to a darker color though the ship went no deeper.

"They're around here somewhere," Will spoke to himself. "I can feel them."

Whispers spoke to the sea and around those aboard the _Dutchman_. They were close. Creeping with phantom fingers, they floated through the sea of death. An apparition formed, an old man, peaceful in sleep.

"Sir," Will called out softly. He reached out to the man and brought him into the boat.

The man's eyes opened as though he had not realized he had fallen asleep.

* * *

A/N: Would you like to know the unbearable truth? I've been sitting on this chapter for five months. Yep…almost to the day. I thought I'd always write more, but I never got around to it. Hey, believe me, there is a coherent end and stuff…and fantastic moments coming up…I just haven't written them because of school and life…and school. Mostly school. Well, whatever.

Thanks to: **An Unknown Writer, Tala-baby, AbbieNormal182, Almenel-Miriel, acacia59601, blue buggy, Vicster's Jar of Dirt, Topgallant**, and **Tallulah Shayne **for reviewing!!


	20. Just a Teaser

**The Heir to the Pirate King**

* * *

Just a Teaser:

The old man's face was weathered, worn. It seemed he had lived an eternity. His clothing was mismatched and strangely tawdry in a piratical way. His hair was long and dreadlocked, the scars on his face a testament to how long he'd lived. He gave a knowing nod at Jack and tipped his hat to Will.

"Ahoy, matey. This be death?" he asked in a low growl of a voice.

Jack froze. This was the last person Jack had ever expected to meet on this sojourn. "How marvelously mystifying it is to see you…not alive and all."

"Welcome aboard, John Teague," Will ushered as he shook Teague's hand.

Teague stepped aboard the _Dutchman_, and planted himself. His head turned slowly, observing all that was going on. "Thank ye, matey. I'll not be long. I'm on me way to me locker, aye?"

Jack's jaw dropped, and he couldn't speak. Never had Captain Jack Sparrow been struck speechless.

Will, while not struck dumb, was surprised as well. "Well," he thought aloud, "Not necessarily. You could remain aboard the _Dutchman_, and serve under my command for however long you wish, postpone the judgment, and even ease the punishment…if you like."

Teague looked at Will for a moment, but not in discernment. The old man had had his mind set for centuries. He shook his head slowly. "No, I'll be on me way quick as wind, I will."

Will nodded in agreement and gave the signal to his father to continue on their way.

"How did you come about this odd carbuncle?" Jack asked as the three moved about the deck.

"I chose to die. It was me time." Teague laid a hand on Jack's shoulder, giving it a paternal pat.

"But it didn't have to be." Jack stopped walking as he sensed the conversation was going to get a lot more serious.

"Boy, you learn one thing from being immortal. And that's that water will always be wet."

Jack stood there, gaping, as Will and Teague moved on.

* * *

(**A/N**: Wow. It's been so long. I hope you all don't hate me. I'll try my hardest to pick this back up again. I promise. Because I still have a good idea of where I was going with it, believe it or not.

Thank you all for reviewing! It's meant a lot to me. ^_^)


End file.
